


The Snake in the Garden

by nishiki



Series: The Snake in the Garden [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anger, Big Brothers, Big Gay Love Story, Brotherly Affection, Community Service, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eventual Romance, Everyone Has Issues, Family, Family Issues, Forbidden Love, Forbidden Romance, Heahmund tries his best, Heahmund's poor life choices, Hvitserk needs a break, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Ivar (Vikings) is a Little Shit, Ivar comes with a crap-ton of issues, Ivar has anger issues, Ivar is literally Satan, Ivar's poor life choices, Kattegat (Vikings), Light Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Mom Ubbe, Murder confessions as flirting, Older Man/Younger Man, Past Drug Addiction, Protective Older Brothers, Romance, Slow Romance, Ubbe deserves a break, Ubbe is acting as a parental figure, Unconventional Friendship, Unconventional Relationship, anger issues, church, everyone has baggage, exhausted parent Ubbe, petty crimes, priest Heahmund, someone get the holy water to wash out Ivar's mouth, teen Ivar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: “Community Service!” Ivar barked at his big brother as if it was an insult. “Can you fucking believe it?”After his latest run-in with the law, Ivar is sentenced to eight weeks of community service. His summer break ruined as he has to spend it in the local church, he is dead-set on making the lives of everyone involved in his torment as miserable as possible. That is, however, before he comes face to face with the new priest.
Relationships: Bjorn & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings), Hvitserk & Ivar (Vikings), Hvitserk & Ubbe (Vikings), Ivar & Sigurd (Vikings), Ivar & Ubbe (Vikings)
Series: The Snake in the Garden [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206800
Comments: 132
Kudos: 98





	1. Prologue

The old, retro-looking neon lamp that was hanging from the yellowed ceiling was flickering and buzzing softly above him. Whenever he would move his feet on the grey linoleum floor beneath him, the soles of his boots would make a smacking sound that told him that this floor was in desperate need of getting cleaned professionally. There were a couple of stains on the floor that he didn't want to investigate any further as he sat on one of the uncomfortable black plastic chairs at the side of the hallway, waiting for the inevitable. People were rushing by every few minutes, looking busy with their leather briefcases and stacks of documents in their arms, wearing nice suits or pencil skirts and not paying him any mind or attention. The distant sound of chatting employees had become background noise by this point. The courthouse of Kattegat was a beehive of activity this early in the day.

Ubbe Lothbrok would like to claim that he was a stranger to this place but the sad reality was that this was not the case at all. 

The first time he had been here, he had barely been fourteen years old and in charge of a gaggle of younger brothers all confused and intimidated by their surroundings. The courthouse had looked a whole lot cleaner and modern to him back then compared to the state it was in now. Their mother had just died and nearly taken them all with her by accident. She had fallen asleep on the living room sofa with a lit cigarette between her slender fingers - her beauty ripped away by the flames as well as their childhoods. Nothing had been the same ever since.

He had been sixteen the next time he had been forced to sit on those plastic chairs. Two of his little brothers had been sitting beside him, one to each side of him, looking at him for guidance and an explanation why their big brother was being dragged in front of the court. How could he have even tried to explain the situation to them? How could he even have begun to explain their older brother’s penchant for making stupid decisions and for throwing away his life?

Two months after he had turned eighteen he had been summoned to this courthouse for the third time in only four years. Their big brother Bjorn had just decided that now that Ubbe was of age, he could take the burden of raising their brothers from him and Ubbe had gladly obliged. If Bjorn had remained a fixture in their life for another six months, Ivar - eleven years old at the time - and Bjorn would have killed each other for sure. 

Ubbe Lothbrok was twenty-four years old now and getting tired of being summoned to the courthouse - tired of being looked at like a complete and utter failure as a big brother. 

The judges kept telling him that he needed to keep a closer eye on Ivar, they kept telling him that they would take him off his hands if things wouldn't change. Every time Ubbe would promise them that he would change things, that he would keep his baby brother on a shorter leash, and every time he would fail. They expected miracles from him but Ubbe couldn't say that, of course. In front of the court, Ivar was always the paradigm of a remorseful teenager, dressed his absolute best with big blue puppy eyes, walking into the courtroom on his crutches or in his wheelchair and acting every bit the sick boy he refused to be outside of this very building. So far, he had gotten through with this shtick as well but it was only a matter of time until he wouldn't get through with this anymore. Ubbe was afraid of the consequences his baby brother would have to face then.

When the doors of the courtroom finally opened it took only a minute before Ivar stepped outside on his crutches at the side of his very much tired-looking public defender. Ubbe’s heart dropped at the sour expression on Ivar’s face.

“Community Service!” Ivar barked at his big brother as if it was an insult. “Can you fucking believe it?”

**-End of Chapter 1-**


	2. Chapter 2

Community Service was one thing. It may suck, sure, but at least it was honest work. Community Service at a _church_ , however, was a whole other fucking can of worms and Ivar Lothbrok was not having any of that shit. As if his plight wouldn't be hard enough already, it did not exactly help his sour mood on that fateful morning that his brother Hvitserk directed a shit-eating grin at him from where he was sitting on the kitchen counter with a mug of steaming coffee in his hands. He looked better than he had in a while, even with his wet hair and still being in his pajamas despite him having just taken a shower, but that didn't change the fact that Ivar was contemplating murder on this sunny June morning.

“If you don't wipe that grin off your face, I will do it for you - preferably with a chainsaw!”

“Oh, come on!” Hvitserk laughed and lifted the mug with the inscription ‘Not today Satan’ (which Ivar took as a personal attack) once more to his lips. His big brother had made it his life’s mission to fill their cupboard with all kinds of stupid mugs like this - the best of which being the bright pink Hello Kitty mug that he had once given Ivar as a gift for his sixteenth birthday. “It's your own fucking fault that you ruined summer break for yourself!” 

Ivar prayed to all that was holy that Hvitserk would burn his tongue on his coffee. He couldn't argue with his brother’s logic, of course, but that didn't mean he wouldn't at least try. “I think there is a case to be made in my favor, is all I am saying!” Ivar growled. “I mean I never stood a chance to grow up to become a functioning and law-abiding member of society with examples like you living in the same household!”

Hvitserk did not even have the decency to look hurt or at the very least guilty. Instead, he took a very audible slurp from his coffee and allowed his grin to widen. “You should better watch that mouth of yours, baby brother, or otherwise that priest might find a different use for it.”

“Hvitserk!” Ubbe hissed from behind Ivar, startling his youngest brother in the process but leaving him with the satisfaction that Hvitserk too had not heard him approach - judging by the way Hvitserk jumped. “Get down from the counter for fuck’s sake! Have you been raised in a fucking barn?” Now it was Ivar’s turn to grin as Hvitserk hopped down from the counter, almost spilling coffee all over himself. His grin didn't last long as Ubbe smacked the back of his head hard, though. “And _you_ get your shit together. You have to be at the church in thirty minutes and you will not be late, you hear me? I will make your life a living hell if you don’t fucking behave!”

“Look who rolled out of bed with a severe case of bitchiness and a whole tree firmly lodged up his ass,” Ivar groaned only to gain himself another smack. “Stop hitting the cripple!” He snarled as he turned around to face his brother but Ubbe didn't seem fazed by his words. He should definitely take his crutches when he would go to the church. He needed every advantage he could get. Today was a good day, though. He had been able to get out of bed and into the kitchen all by himself and without the help from either his crutches or his wheelchair. Still, if it meant that the old priest would go easy on him, he would use his disability as his trump card.

“Out,” Ubbe said pointing over his shoulder, his face unmoving, his blue eyes staring daggers at him - which would look way more impressive if his hair wouldn't still be tousled from sleep. “Now.”

“Can I not even get a coffee first?”

“You should have gotten up earlier if you wanted coffee. Now _out_ before I throw you out of the window.”

“Jeez!” Ivar hissed. “Okay, okay, Nurse Ratched!” 

Under the cackling laughter of his brother Hvitserk and the dark scowl of his brother Ubbe, Ivar grabbed his crutches that were leaning near the apartment door against the wall and slowly made his way outside. Before he could even close the door, his big brother's voice echoed again. “And don't you dare make any detours on your way home! You go straight to the church and you will come straight back home, you are still grounded!”

He was seventeen fucking years old and his brother had the audacity to ground him until the end of summer break. Maybe he should call CPS on Ubbe after all. He was sure that someone would agree with him that it should be illegal to be grounded by one’s own brother. And yet, he had to accept that Ubbe would remain his legal guardian until he would finally turn eighteen in November. Well, despite his anger, he knew that he could have it much worse than this. He could have been sent to a foster home, or, after his latest stunt, to a home for troubled youth. The truth was, he was thankful that the court had allowed them to stay together. The truth was, that even years later, he sometimes still woke up bathed in sweat and crawled through the apartment to check in on Ubbe and Hvitserk just to make sure that they were there, that they had not been separated. 

_Better not think about it_ , he told himself as he walked down the corridor, got into the elevator, rode down to the first floor, and walked through the lobby and out into the sunshine of this mid-June morning. Today was the first day of summer break. Today was the first day of his eight-week slave labor at the local church. He knew that he had gotten off easy and that he could have just as well gotten sent to juvie for eight weeks. Fifty-seven long days lay before him. That was eight weeks and one day. That was 1368 hours. That was 82080 minutes. Ubbe said he should stop whining about it but Ubbe didn't need to work for some creepy old priest in a creepy old church, after all.

 _No_ , the bitter part of his mind reminded him, _because Ubbe did not mess up and instead Ubbe is working two jobs so you don't have to work part-time while going to school._

Not even his own mind allowed him to be a moody teenager sometimes. Deep down he knew, of course, that he needed to stop being such an asshole and that he needed to support his brothers instead. Ubbe didn't deserve all of this. He once had had dreams of his own and he had to put them all on the backburner when Bjorn had fucked off to God knows where. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. It hadn't been fair that the burden of raising four little boys had been put on Bjorn back in the day and it hadn't been fair that that same burden had then been put on Ubbe. Nothing of what had happened since their father had abandoned them was fair. One day he would find Ragnar Lothbrok and punch him in the dick.

As he walked down the street that was leading down the hill on which their house was located, the sun was shining brightly down on him already despite the early morning hour and people were walking past him with no understanding of his plight. Overhead seagulls kept screeching, awakening in him the desire of grabbing his brother Hvitserk and spending the day at the beach in that little bay close to where Floki was living with his wife. Floki and Helga were truly the one thing he had left of his father - the man that Ivar barely even knew and who was more like a legend to him than an actual human being. He was tempted to just ditch community service and go to the beach instead. No, he decided. He couldn't do that to Ubbe and, despite all he was doing and saying, he didn't want to ruin his future like this. 

In a couple of months he would turn eighteen and by this time next year he was about to start college - that was if he would not get kicked out of school before then due to his behavior. He needed to get his act together. For Ubbe, if nothing else. His brother didn't deserve it that he was throwing everything away that he was working so hard for. Despite knowing all this, it was sometimes so difficult to act accordingly. He was a slave to his brash nature and his ill-temper. He had that in common with Hvitserk - only that Hvitserk was a slave to other things and seemed unable to break free from his temptations for longer than a couple of weeks at a time. 

As he slowly made his way down the hill he wondered if he should have taken his wheelchair instead of his crutches and splints. It was a good day in so far as he was not in pain right now but walking down the hill was always leaving him winded and exhausted even though the incline was not that steep. He remembered bitching about the location of their new home after they had moved into the smaller apartment a couple of years ago but in Ubbe’s defense, Kattegat had very little to offer in terms of flat surfaces outside of the town’s center. His big brother had, as always, tried his best to find a place that would be comfortable for Ivar. Luckily, the church was not that far away from their house anyway.

The old church of Kattegat was a rather small stone building compared to what Ivar had seen on TV. Then again, Kattegat itself was a rather small town as well. The church stood proudly and quite prominently near the town center and close to the harbor - although in Kattegat everything was close to the harbor - and had been established sometime during the middle ages when Scandinavia had been converted from paganism. The only reason Ivar knew this was because he had been forced to learn about it in elementary school when they had been dragged into church every Friday morning. He had hated every second of those Friday morning sermons. He imagined that it would be just as bad now and only one more reason why he should have played the poor-cripple-card and taken his wheelchair. 

He paused as the church came into sight and it took him quite a bit of effort to get moving again and actually walk up to the high stone portal. The heavy wooden doors always stood wide open throughout the day to invite the faithful lambs of Christ inside - meaning the old ladies of Kattegat who had nothing else to do but to spend their entire day knitting and sitting in the pews gushing over Father Michael.

He was already in a bad mood and as he finally stepped over the threshold and walked into the church, his mood plummeted even further, sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic like the Titanic. Maybe his brothers were onto something when they were calling him the spawn of Satan as his stomach always seemed to turn the moment he would be confronted with anything church-related. If the ground would open up before him now and unleash the beasts of Hell upon the world, he would not be that surprised. Already the smell wafting through the church brought forth bad memories - memories of his mother’s funeral, where he had sat in the front row, tucked into Ubbe’s side because he hadn't quite realized what was going on. 

He remembered how people had stared at him and his brothers like they were the main attraction of some kind of circus, he remembered Bjorn holding a eulogy for his stepmother, remembered Sigurd stuttering his way through a conversation after the funeral and how he himself had hidden inside the cloakroom of the community center during the funeral service until Hvitserk had found him. He remembered his big brother coming into the cloakroom, casting one look over his shoulder before he had closed the door behind him and sat down next to Ivar in the dark between the coats. He remembered wondering if their father would return home to them now that their mother was dead and how Father Michael had kept rambling on and on about his mother’s achievements in life, how loved she had been, how loving she had been, and how she was in a better place now. 

This sentiment had never made much sense to him. What did it even mean when people would say that? Why would his mother need to be in a better place? She should be with him. She should be with her son and not dead and rotting in the ground. The truth was, he had avoided coming to this church because it was right next to the graveyard and he had not been to his mother’s grave ever since she had been put in the ground.

“You are five minutes late,” A voice addressed him the moment he was two steps into the church and made him stop dead in his tracks. He had been so lost in his miserable thoughts that he had not seen the man standing in the shadows just a couple of steps from the door, leaning his hip casually against one of the pews, dressed from head to toe in black with the only exception being the white priest collar. It was not the words of the man or the snarky tone that made him stop, however, it was the man himself. The first thing Ivar Lothbrok realized the moment he caught sight of the priest was that he was too hot to be a priest. The second thing Ivar Lothbrok realized the moment he caught sight of the priest was that maybe community service would not be as bad after all.

He blinked a little dumbfounded at the priest standing before him. He was young - definitely much younger than any priest Ivar had ever seen before - with tousled black hair, sharp crystal blue eyes, and a well-trimmed goatee that framed his angular face quite handsomely. On second thought, his eyes might as well be grey. He would need to get closer - _much closer_ \- to figure that one out. Well, he would get there eventually. Hvitserk had always made fun of how Ivar only learned things because he got obsessed with something and although he kept denying that he had an obsessive nature, there was no denying right now that he felt the first blossoms of a new obsession blooming in his heart.

“I’m sorry, Father…”

“Heahmund,” The priest said. “Heahmund Bishop. Just call me Heahmund. And you are Ivar Lothbrok.” Only now Ivar noticed the stack of papers in the man’s hands as Heahmund looked down on them pointedly. “Apparently, you beat up one of your classmates so badly that you broke his nose, his jaw and cracked two of his ribs during recess.” For a second, Ivar could not quite place his accent - it was clear, however, that Heahmund Bishop was not from Norway. 

“Yes, but-”

“And apparently you refused to explain your actions to the judge in your case.”

“Yes, but-”

“Which is why you landed your ass in community service. The judge was lenient when she decided to send you here instead of juvie for the next eight weeks. I have to say, I would not have been as lenient as your judge.” His voice was sharp and he never broke eye-contact as he spoke. _British_ , his mind supplied then. _He’s a Brit._ Ivar had always had a thing for British people. 

“What can I say? I am quite charming. You’ll see soon,” Ivar replied with a grin. Already he could tell that his time here at the church perhaps would be a lot more interesting than he would have ever expected. Heahmund was tall, dark, and handsome - exactly his type - and it seemed clear already that he would not just take his bullshit either. He had always enjoyed a good challenge.

The man responded with a snort to his words. “Come along then, Prince Charming, I don't have all day.”

“Two minutes in and you already have a nickname for me! I would say we get along swimmingly already!”

Heahmund turned away from him and Ivar found himself wishing that the attention of those clear blue eyes would remain on him for a little while longer. As Heahmund started walking down the nave, Ivar followed, the sound of his crutches echoing from the tall stone walls with every step. For some reason, he thought that Heahmund did not care that he was handicapped. For some reason, he thought that Heahmund would not give him any leniency just because of his afflictions. He was certainly the first person Ivar had ever met who had not outright stared at his crutches or his splints. It was actually quite refreshing even though it messed with his carefully crafted plan to evoke pity and thus get off easy. 

“So,” Ivar said as he followed him. “What am I going to do now? Mop the floors? Tidy up bibles? Climb on top of the organ to clean the pipes?”

“You are going to help me in the garden.”

“The garden?”

“Yes, the garden. I hope you will refrain from repeating my words in the future. As far as I can see, you are not a parrot. Our gardener broke his leg and can not finish his work. You are going to do it so that the people of Kattegat can soon enjoy the church garden again to find peace and contemplation.”

“Last time I was here, the church garden was nothing but a deserted wasteland behind the church - not much of a place for _finding peace and contemplation_ if you ask me.”

“I am not asking you,” Heahmund shot back over his shoulder. “I am giving you an order and you will follow it - even though something tells me that you are not particularly good at following orders.”

“Guilty as charged, Your Grace.”

“Don't call me that,” Heahmund replied immediately and led him to a narrow door that Ivar knew led into the vestry. He had a joke on the tip of his tongue but he felt like Heahmund would not react too kindly to that kind of joke. Ivar, however, wanted the man to like him, he wanted the man to give him attention. A narrow corridor led from the church itself through the vestry. To the right of them was a wall made out of frosted glass through which he could see the hint of green, on the left side, was the door to the vestry of the altar servers where they would get changed before service, then came the door to a toilet, a door leading towards a storage room and the last door next to the exit was the door to the vestry for the priests. 

Heahmund, however, stopped at a door of frosted glass on the opposite wall and opened it for him. Ivar stepped out into the church garden that was accessible only through that one door in the vestry and a cast-iron gate near the street. The church garden was nestled at two sides against the church, one side to the street and the fourth side against the wall of the graveyard. He paused for a second as he saw the wall of the graveyard with its narrow gate. Quickly, he tore his eyes away from the graveyard and instead focused on the garden in front of him. Since the last time he had been here, a lot had changed. There was a small pebblestone path winding and twisting across the grass and a couple of half-finished flower beds. In the center stood a decorative fountain, gurgling peacefully in the silence of the church garden.

It was like stepping into a whole different world for a moment but Ivar still couldn't see that place of tranquility that Heahmund had in mind.

“Okay, what's the plan?”

“The plan,” Heahmund said patiently. “Is that you are going to resume planting those flower beds. You will find the sketch our gardener made over there in his shed with his tools and the flowers. I will come to check on you later. Confessions start in a couple of minutes.”

“Confessions?”

“Yes, confessions,” Heahmund repeated with a sigh. “Have you done one before? Maybe it would help you. You should consider it.”

“I have nothing to confess,” Ivar huffed. “My conscience is clean.”

“We are all sinners, Ivar. We all have unclean thoughts and _you_ , I would assume, have plenty to confess.”

“Are you implying I have unclean thoughts?” He snickered. “I can assure you, my thoughts are very much pure!”

“I was referring to the crime that brought you here, Ivar,” Heahmund said but it did not escape Ivar that he had a small smile on his lips as he spoke. “And now I think it would be best if you would focus on your work.” With that, the young priest left him to his own devices and walked back into the church to go about his own work. 

For a moment, Ivar considered just sitting down in the sun and enjoying his day but then again, he had never been one to be lazy and the day would go by much quicker if he actually worked. Perhaps Ubbe would be less pissed with him too when he would come home sweaty, dirty, and utterly miserable from his work. He couldn't deny that he hated the way Ubbe was treating him since his last court appearance. They were close, he and his big brother, even closer than brothers usually were, he assumed. Ubbe had raised him, after all. The truth was, he wanted his big brother to be proud of him and he wanted to show Ubbe that he had done a good job raising him. After all, raising him had been Ubbe’s work and not Bjorn’s even as it had so often been Bjorn who had acted like his parent in front of others whenever Ivar had done something worthy of praise.

He was thinking a lot about Bjorn lately. There was no denying that either. 

Bjorn, who had left them six years ago like their father had left them fifteen years ago. For the longest time, Ivar had looked up to his big brother Bjorn but then he had realized that Bjorn was no better than Ragnar. The moment Ubbe had turned eighteen, Bjorn had ditched them as if they had never mattered to him at all. Bjorn had not cared about how his baby brothers would manage without him. He had just taken his stuff, his money, and his influence and left to go to Italy or France or wherever he was right now, living la dolce vita - while Ubbe was working his ass off to provide for his brothers because the alternative would have been to have the state take care of them instead.

When he thought about his relationship with Bjorn now that he was older and had the necessary distance from this man, he realized that he had not felt admiration for Bjorn but rather it had been fear. Yes, he had been afraid of Bjorn for quite some time. Bjorn, who used to be so impatient with him and his afflictions. Bjorn, who had never shown him even the slightest hint of sympathy or warmth. Bjorn, who had shoved him into Ubbe or Hvitserk’s arms instead when he was in pain or sick. As a child, he had always been afraid of provoking Bjorn’s anger. Even now looking back on it with the eyes of a man, he felt like Bjorn had always looked at him differently than his older brothers. In fact, he was unable to recall any moment in his early childhood where Bjorn had played with him or treated him like his older brothers. And later when Bjorn had been responsible for them, Ivar had been nothing but a nuisance to him - a burden that he had so gladly shoved at Ubbe or Hvitserk instead.

As he returned to the first flower bed a few moments later with his shovel and stabbed the shovel into the dirt, he thought about Bjorn and about all the things he wanted to tell this asshole of a brother when he would see him again. Six years and not a word from Bjorn and still Ubbe spoke so highly of this man. Bjorn had never deserved Ubbe’s admiration or praise. And while Ubbe revered their oldest brother still with such admiration, he looked at Ivar only in disappointment lately. Hell, he couldn't even blame him. He kept getting into trouble for no other reason than to get attention. Yet, it had not been his fault the last time. He had only fought back, after all! Hvitserk had told him that he always needed to fight back when people would make fun of him or torment him.

It was already noon when Father Heahmund returned to him for the first time and by that time, Ivar had made quick work of the first flower bed and was working on the next. He had never gardened before but he actually enjoyed the work even though his hands were bleeding from the thorns of some of the roses that he had planted so far. 

“Looking good!” Heahmund addressed the quality of his work and Ivar couldn't deny that he enjoyed the praise. “I see you are making good progress. It's time for a break now. Come inside, I have something to eat for you before you return to your work - wash your hands before you find me in the vestry.”

Ivar watched the man retreat again, baffled by the fact that this man would actually feed him. Until now he had not even thought about the fact that he would need to eat something throughout the day - never mind the fact that he had not had anything to eat until now, nor had he had coffee because Ubbe had decided to channel his inner dragon and shooed him out of the house before he could grab one! Ivar had so far prided himself on being self-sufficient and not in need of anyone taking care of him. Yet, he had not thought about bringing something to eat or drink. In his defense, he had never quite needed to _think_ about bringing lunch or water anywhere because Ubbe had taken care of that. Well … Maybe he was not so self-sufficient after all. 

He hurried to get inside and wash his hands thoroughly as his stomach started growling at the mention of something to eat. Not five minutes later he walked into the priest vestry where Heahmund sat at a small table. Something told him that this was not how it usually looked like inside this room.

“I would have brought you lunch into the garden but I assume you are glad to be out of the sun for a bit. You are already getting a sunburn.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, the back of your neck and shoulders is bright red,” Heahmund chuckled and Ivar felt his ears turn pink at that before he slowly sat down at the table. He was surprised to see that the priest had gone to the café close by and gotten him a sandwich and a coffee. 

“I think this whole God-thing has to be true,” Ivar murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, either _God_ told you that I needed coffee or you are a mind reader. Whatever may be the case, thank you.”

Heahmund snorted at that and leaned back in his chair and started eating his own sandwich. If it wouldn't be for the white-collar, Ivar would have never assumed him to be a priest. “Neither has God told me nor have I read your mind,” the man said between bites as Ivar did his best to not wolf down his sandwich like a caveman. “I was simply starving and thought, if you have been working outside all morning, you were probably too. Also, it is one of my many flaws that I can not function without coffee throughout the day.”

Ivar huffed out a laugh at that and finally gave up all the pretenses as he inhaled his food and coffee. Of course, the priest noticed.

“Didn't you eat before you came here?”

“No,” He chuckled. “I didn't have enough time.”

“You were late.”

“My big brother spent too long in the bathroom and then I didn't have enough time.” Also, he may or may not have overslept. “And then my other brother kicked me out of the house under the threat of violence.”

“What about your parents?”

“They aren’t in the picture,” Ivar replied with a shrug. He didn't like talking about his parents but that didn't mean that he couldn't stand it and would clam up whenever the topic ever came to it. “My brothers raised me.”

Heahmund’s gaze was unreadable for a moment but, to his surprise, the man did not ask further questions about that. Instead, he pointed at Ivar’s hands. “Have you not been wearing gardening gloves?”

“The ones in the shed were too small for me.”

“I will give you mine later,” Heahmund promised. “But first, let's clean this up. We can’t risk that those cuts get infected - you need your hands.” He had a joke about slave-labor on the tip of his tongue but decided to swallow it for now. 

“ _You_ have gardening gloves?”

“Sure, why not?” Heahmund laughed. “I help the gardener whenever I have a few minutes to spare. I enjoy working with my hands.”

“I wouldn't have thought you were someone who likes working with their hands,” Ivar replied and, as Heahmund raised his brows in question, he quickly added: “I mean … most priests don’t. Right? Being a priest is more of a scholarly type of thing, I would assume and scholarly work usually does not attract characters who also enjoy manual work.”

“My grandfather was a carpenter,” Heahmund replied swiftly as if that would explain everything. “Before he retired. I spent a lot of time around his workshop growing up, picking up a couple of things. I know what you mean, though,” Heahmund then added with a chuckle. There was a bit of mischief in his eyes as he did. 

“You are quite young for a priest too … I expected to see Father Michael…”

“I’m twenty-six,” Heahmund sighed. Something told Ivar that he heard those words often - in some way or the other. “Fresh out of the seminar, so to say.”

“So this is your first parish?”

“Yes,” He chuckled. “I wouldn't have expected to be sent to Norway but, oh well, I could have had it worse, I assume.”

“You’re from Britain, huh?”

“Born and raised in Sherborne.” As Heahmund noticed the confused look on Ivar’s face, he added: “A small town near Dorset in the Southwest of England. The population is a little over nine-thousand - so I am not offended that you have never heard of it.”

“I’m sure it's a beautiful place.”

“It sure is. You should visit it sometime.”

After they had finished their meal, Heahmund returned to him with a first aid kit and Ivar allowed him to clean up the cuts on his hands before Heahmund put band-aids around his abused fingers. He was working quick and diligently, his fingers soft against Ivar's skin as he took care of him. That was all it took for Ivar’s initial blush to creep into his cheeks as well. Fuck, Ubbe and Hvitserk would have a field day with this if they would see him right now. 

After Heahmund had completed his task, he returned the first-aid kit to a cupboard and returned with a pair of green gardening gloves to Ivar. He made a mental note for himself to buy some for himself with Ubbe later. He was sure that Ubbe would be more lenient with him if he would tell him that he needed them for his work at the church. After that, they returned to their respective work, and this time, Ivar did so with a smile on his face.

The sun was still shining strongly as the clock ticked four in the afternoon and Ivar was allowed to leave for the day. A part of him was sad to go. He couldn't help it. He wanted to spend more time with Heahmund, he wanted him to pay more attention towards him, besides the kindness the man had shown him earlier. He had done so only because it was his duty as a man of God, Ivar thought bitterly. 

As he left the church he was surprised to see Hvitserk leaning against a lamppost just outside with a cigarette between his lips, in his favorite pair of distressed blue jeans and a black ACDC shirt that Ivar made a mental note of stealing from his closet. At this point, most of the shirts he had in his closet he had stolen from one of his brothers. He could only assume that Ubbe had sent Hvitserk to make sure that Ivar would come straight home and not get into any more trouble. The grin Hvitserk shot him said as much.

“To see the day my baby brother walks out of a church…”

“Are you Ubbe’s lapdog now?” Ivar called out as he walked closer. “Making sure I get home without murdering someone or stealing an old lady’s purse?”

“Apparently, someone has to.”

“Yeah, you would not be my first choice for that, though.” His knees ached as he made his way towards Hvitserk. Kneeling on the ground the entire day had been hell for his legs. Hvitserk picked up on that, of course, but he did not say anything. Not yet.

“So,” Hvitserk said as they started walking. “Is your virginity still intact or do I have to call the police on father Michael for deflowering my baby brother?”

Ivar couldn't help but make a grimace at the mental image. “You are a disgusting prick.”

“Tell me something new,” Hvitserk chuckled but there was a darkness in his brother’s eyes that Ivar knew all too well from the occasional look in the mirror. Perhaps that was why he gravitated towards Hvitserk more and more the older he would grow. There was an understanding there that he did not find with his other brothers - a shadow that both Ubbe and Sigurd were blind to. “How are your legs?”

“I wouldn't mind having them sawn off.” Every joint and every muscle in his body ached and yearned for relief but Ivar had never been one to whine about it. 

“Piggyback?”

“I’m almost eighteen.”

“Way to brag! I’m twenty-two and would totally accept a piggyback ride from Ubbe.”

“It's not that bad…”

“Sure, buddy. Remember, you need to walk up that hill.” Hvitserk was right and Ivar hated that he knew that Hvitserk was right. Fuck. He would need to think of something else tomorrow. He hadn't broken a bone in a while but he knew that it was only a matter of time.

“So, Ubbe actually allowed you out of the house without supervision? I think you are far more likely to do something stupid than I am.” It was a low blow but Hvitserk reacted with a sunny smile and an easy laugh like he always would. 

“I am nine months sober, you know that.”

“Of course,” Ivar said with a small roll of his eyes. Hvitserk’s sobriety was still a sore topic between them and Ubbe would never speak about the reason why Hvitserk had gone cold turkey by the end of last year. Ivar, however, would never forget the screeching of metal, the thunder in his head, and the moment Hvitserk’s car had overturned only to land on its roof. He would never forget the blind panic as he had been trapped in that wreck with his big brother motionless by his side in the driver’s seat. “Okay,” Ivar finally sighed as they reached the street leading up the hill. “I give up. Piggyback.”

“What's the magic word?”

“Now.”

“That's my boy,” Hvitserk laughed before he crouched down in front of him and waited for Ivar to climb onto his back, taking a hold of his crutches in a way that they would not be a hindrance for Hvitserk as his brother stood up again and started walking. “We need to put you on a diet, you have grown heavy.”

“You are just weak.”

**-End of Chapter 2-**


	3. Chapter 3

Ivar arrived early the next morning. He arrived in front of the church fifteen minutes before the doors were opened, new gardening gloves sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans and two cups of boiling hot coffees in a small paper tray on his lap as he patiently sat in his wheelchair and waited for Heahmund to arrive. He knew that Heahmund lived close by, near the harbor in a tiny cottage, and would arrive any minute now. Not that he would have googled him last night or something. Of course not. He was not a stalker, after all. Even though Hvitserk would beg to differ after he had thrown his pillow at Ivar last night to get him to shut off his laptop. Well, what did Hvitserk know anyway?

Father Heahmund Bishop - and wasn't his name just perfect for this job? - did not disappoint him as he arrived at the church but two minutes after Ivar. Just as expected.

“Ivar!” Heahmund greeted him with wide eyes as he saw him sitting and waiting. Ivar couldn't quite tell if he was more surprised to see him sitting in a wheelchair or that he had arrived early. Whatever it was, Heahmund quickly schooled his expression into a mask of calm indifference again. “You are early.”

“The early bird and all that jazz, Father Heahmund!” He grinned and Heahmund rolled his eyes at this remark.

“Heahmund,” He said quietly. “Just Heahmund.”

“I brought coffee, just Heahmund. To say thank you for yesterday.”

“You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to.” Heahmund breathed out a laugh before he went over to the heavy wooden portal and unlocked the double-winged doors. “Shouldn't that be the job of the custodian?”

“Yes,” Heahmund smiled. “But he is an old man and he has fallen ill yesterday. I don't mind doing a couple of things on my own.”

A few moments later, Ivar wheeled himself into the church. Inside it was cold and the hairs on his naked arms raised up right away. Already he missed the early morning sun outside. “Anyway … I wanted to ask you if I could do this confession thing today.”

“You want to make a confession?”

“Yes.” By this point, Ivar would say yes to everything if it meant he could keep Heahmund’s attention for a couple more minutes. 

“Well, fine, yes. However, I can not do that this morning,” As he noticed how Ivar’s smile dropped, Father Heahmund quickly added: “We can do it in the afternoon before you leave for the day. How about that? I would like to take the time you may need without interruption. I have a few appointments this morning though and would not be able to give you my full attention.”

And his full attention Ivar wanted, so he nodded quickly. “Sure, that's fine.”

“I have seen that you have been picked up yesterday,” Heahmund then, much to Ivar’s surprise, changed the topic. He wondered just how much of his interaction with Hvitserk Heahmund might have witnessed.

“Yeah, that was my brother,” Ivar huffed. “He’s an idiot.”

“I think it was nice of him to pick you up.”

“No he was forced,” Ivar laughed. “Our big brother told him to keep an eye on me. Apparently, even though I am almost eighteen, I still need a babysitter.”

They shared a small amused grin at that. “Well, judging by the fact that you're here because you messed up, I would agree with your brother.”

“Well played, Priest, well played.” He handed one of the coffees to Heahmund and was surprised as the priest not only took it but knocked their cups together.

“Skol!” He huffed as he took his first sip. Ivar quickly gulped down a sip of his own before he pointed towards the door that was leading into the vestry. 

“So, I should go back to work then, I suppose,” He said. “I have my own gloves too now. My brother had an old pair.”

“Is he a gardener?” Heahmund asked, curiosity clearly written all over his face. He wanted to know more about Ivar. How flattering! Of course, Ivar decided to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was just being polite.

“He’s actually working on a farm but he’s doing gardening work too.”

Heahmund seemed like he wanted to ask something else but then the first very early church-goer came in through the doors and asked for his attention. A part of him cursed the little old woman that walked in but then he wheeled himself over to the vestry and, finally, back outside into the garden and the warm light of the sun.

Another sunny day had him working on the ground after he maneuvered himself out of his wheelchair and into the grass. Another day of hard work lay before him. And a day of contemplation while he was doing his work. At noon, Heahmund once again had delivered food to the church and this time they were having lunch outside in the shade as Heahmund sat on a stone bench and Ivar in his wheelchair.

“I mean no indiscretion,” Heahmund said in between bites. “But I kept wondering about you and your affliction the entire morning. I could hardly focus on my work.”

Ivar did his best to hide his grin behind his sandwich. So, Heahmund had thought about him. The entire morning. If that wasn’t considered a win then what was? “What were you wondering about?”

“Yesterday you came with a pair of crutches, today in a wheelchair.”

“I have Osteogenesis imperfecta type 1-”

“Brittle bone disease,” Heahmund cut him off and Ivar breathed out a laugh.

“Yes, that,” He smirked. He was not even surprised that Heahmund knew what it was right away. The priest seemed full of surprises. Good, Ivar hated nothing more than being bored. “I was born this way. Nobody knows why. My brothers are all healthy. So, apparently, I won the genetic lottery. Well, at least my hearing is intact. Some people like me lose their hearing almost completely in childhood.”

“It has to be tough, living with this illness.”

“It could be worse,” Ivar shrugged. He didn't like talking about it - at least not to people like Heahmund, people he found interesting. In his experience, people didn't like it when he would talk about it. They would say he was a whiny bitch and kept telling him that there were people out there who had it much worse. Sigurd had told him that in the past and Bjorn too. So he kept his mouth shut and just lived with it regardless of how bad the pain sometimes was. “I mean … I can walk, right? Not without crutches, of course, but I can. When I was little, my mother was certain that I would never walk because when I kept trying to learn it my bones would just snap like twigs. I don't really like using my wheelchair but it's not easy for me to go up the hill on my crutches on a normal day and especially after a day of hard work.”

“If I would have known of your affliction earlier-”

“It's all good, Heahmund,” He brushed his concerns off. “I lived my entire life like this, after all. It's all fine.”

Heahmund didn't seem to buy it but he resumed eating and Ivar did too. It was true, he hated his wheelchair but it was still better than the walking frame he used to use up until high school. Sure, he had been walking with that thing but he had felt like an old man and his back had been a landscape of pain every day from hunching forward while using it. In addition to how it had made him feel, the other kids had been cruel to him because of it. Then again, kids, especially teenagers, were always cruel.

“Tell me about your brother,” Heahmund then asked to change the topic as if he had picked up on Ivar’s silent discomfort. He pointed at the gardening gloves on Ivar’s lap. “The one who gave you the gloves.”

“Ubbe,” Ivar huffed in response. “He’s my second oldest brother.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Four,” He grinned, marveling at the surprised expression of the priest. “But Bjorn, my oldest brother, is only our half brother and he fucked off to god knows where six years ago. He’s an asshole. We had a big sister too but she died before I was born. Anyway, Ubbe is the oldest of my _real_ brothers.” Maybe it was cruel to say it like that but that was how it felt to Ivar. Sometimes he didn't even consider Bjorn his brother at all. Not after the bullshit that he had done in the past. Not after abandoning them. A real brother would not have abandoned them like that. Ubbe would never abandon him like that. Right? “Ubbe is kinda the mother hen of my brothers even though he doesn't like to hear it. I mean he raised me and my older brother. He’s working two jobs now to provide for us.”

“He sounds like a good guy.”

“He is,” Ivar said with an affirming nod. “And he is damn annoying too. He’s worse than any nagging mother could ever be.”

“I’m sure he nags you only because he cares about you.”

“Sure,” Ivar snorted. “But sometimes it seems everything I do is wrong in his eyes. He’s disappointed in me all the time. It's not easy when the only father figure you’ve known is disappointed in you.”

“Well, in his defense you did beat up another young man so badly that he ended up in the hospital.”

“I defended myself.” Ivar shrugged, not an iota of guilt in his voice or his conscience. “People think just because I am a cripple that I am no danger and that they can do with me as they please. I proved him wrong.”

“That, of course, I do understand,” Heahmund replied calmly. “Yet, I implore you to find better ways to do so in the future.”

“I will try my best,” He promised with a smirk and was surprised to see Heahmund echo his amusement. “With your good influence, I guess I can only become a better person that makes better decisions.”

“Ah,” Heahmund laughed. “Now you are trying to sweet talk me so I guess we should both return to our work, huh?”

It was easy to talk to Heahmund. Sure, Ivar had never had a hard time talking in general. In fact, his brothers were still cursing the day he had learned to talk. It was different with Heahmund, though. For some reason, he felt like he already knew the man, as if there was nothing he wouldn't be able to tell him. Perhaps they had known each other in another life. Well, then again, he assumed they would see soon whether or not the good priest would judge him or not.

It was late in the afternoon when Heahmund came to look at his work again and tell him that he was done for the day. Once again, Ivar received praise from the man as Ivar heaved himself back into his wheelchair.

“You said earlier that you wanted to do a confession,” Heahmund then said as he turned around. Ivar slowly peeled off his gardening gloves. “If you have not changed your mind, I have time now.”

“I haven't,” Ivar said with a grin. “Let's do it. I mean, I am here to change and become a better person, right? There is much I have on my mind, Heahmund.” At least if it meant that he would further get the man’s attention and stay by his side just a few minutes more.

He followed Heahmund back into the church. The priest sat down in the front row of the pews and clasped his hands before him. Ivar was confused for a second and Heahmund quickly recognized his confusion - always strangely in-tune with Ivar's emotions, as it seemed. “Usually, I would have this conversation with you in the confessional - for privacy reasons but since I already know it's you and since I want to spare you the hassle of moving out of your chair again, I think we might as well do this here. We are alone, after all.”

And weren’t there so many other things he would like to do with this man right now that they were alone? Well, his time would come, he was sure of that. “Okay … How does this work? Do I just … start talking or…”

“First,” Heahmund said and crossed himself. “You make the sign of the cross. In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit.” Ivar hastily repeated what Heahmund did and said the words that he had certainly not said since his childhood. “Then you say these words: Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been x amount of time since my last confession.”

“Bless me Father for I have sinned,” Ivar repeated even though it felt a little silly for him. Heahmund, however, took it naturally all very seriously. Well, the poor bastard had not yet any clue what unclean thoughts were plaguing Ivar. “It has been seven years since my last confession.” Heahmund nodded in approval and Ivar took that as a sign to continue. “I have done many things that are wrong, Father, I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s okay,” Heahmund said calmly. “Just list your misdeeds one after the other. I am not here to judge you. If it helps, you can come again tomorrow. Take your time. There is no rush.”

“I scratched the word ‘asshole’ in my brother’s new car when he left us six years ago,” Ivar then said and bit his lower lip in contemplation. Perhaps this was not the most outrageous sin to confess to but it was a start. Perhaps something to endear himself more to Heahmund.

“Do you regret having done so?”

“Not at the moment, no,” Ivar said with a smirk before he remembered that he was meant to look guilty and quickly cast his eyes down at his clasped hands instead. “However, now I do. He never came back after that incident and I do believe that it is my fault. I brought great pain to my big brother Ubbe with that because he looked up to our brother and valued his presence in our life greatly.”

“Is there more you want to tell me?”

“Perhaps another time,” He said with a smile and Heahmund nodded.

“Well in that case I would advise you to call your older brother and apologize to him for the deed. You should also seek to talk to your other brother and perhaps offer to repay the victim of your crime. Mend the bridge you have burned down.”

“That’s it?”

“Also I assign on you to pray the Lord’s prayer three times before you go home,” Heahmund then lifted his hands with his palms facing Ivar. “God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen,” Ivar muttered quickly. They shared another small smile and he felt almost as if there was amusement clinging to Heahmund’s eyes as they did.

“Well done,” He said after a moment. “This wasn’t so hard now was it?”

“Not at all,” Ivar huffed. “I should … Uhm … go through with my penance now and then head home. Ubbe gets cranky when I don’t return on time.” 

Heahmund breathed out a chuckle. “We wouldn't want that. Go then. I see you tomorrow.”

Fifteen minutes later, Ivar returned to the apartment. He closed the door behind him silently just in case that Ubbe was already cranky. He could hear him talk in the living room and decided to be quiet and sneaky. Ubbe was always mad at him since the court. Ivar loved him dearly but he also had no desire to hear yet another one of his endless lectures about responsibility and whatever else Ubbe thought he was lacking today. 

He wanted to zoom past the living room door, hoping Ubbe wouldn’t take note of him but then he paused as he heard his brother’s next words.

“I worry about him, Hvitty,” Ubbe said. “I mean … what's supposed to become of him, huh? Have I really done such a piss poor job these past years?”

“You worry too much, Ubbe,” Hvitserk replied patiently. “Ivar is a good kid. He’s just … a _teenager_.” Hvitserk might as well have just said the name Voldemort the way he lay emphasis on the word teenager as if it was something monstrous that could only be said in a whisper.

“He has a criminal record as long as my fucking forearm!” Ubbe shot back. “And he’s not sorry in the least about the things he’s done! He’s completely out of control! What am I supposed to do, huh? I am his legal guardian, I am supposed to keep him in check and yet I fail every time. He’s turning eighteen in five months and then he’s his own man and he will land his ass in prison if he continues like this!”

“If he does, it is not your fault.”

“Yes, it is! It's my responsibility!”

“But you cannot control his actions, Ubbe and no one blames you for the crap he does. No one blamed you for the crap I did either. You can only try and guide him but the decisions are his and his alone to make. You did good, Ubbe. You did your best.”

“Well, apparently my best is not enough,” Ubbe sighed. Ivar imagined that he was driving his hands down his face as he always did when he was at his rope’s end. A nervous habit that had seemingly increased in accordance with Ivar’s age. Some might see a correlation between the two. “Sigurd called today,” Ubbe then said and just by the tone of his voice, Ivar could tell how upset his big brother truly was. “He told me that he’s not coming home to celebrate Midsummer with us. He stays in Hedeby with his friends.”

“I mean it's his first year of college and-”

“He said he wasn't coming home because of Ivar.” The words were like a punch in the gut. It was true that Sigurd and he hadn't had the best relationship in the past but hearing that Sigurd’s disdain for him was that big pained him. “He said he didn't want to see him and hear his provocations. He said … being away from home for a while showed him how toxic Ivar was and how much his presence brings others down.”

Hvitserk snorted at that comment. “He’s Satan,” He commented dryly. “A devil. _Our_ devil. And you know Sigurd. He’s an artist, a musician - in short, he has a penchant for the dramatic. Cut the kid some slack is all I’m saying, Ubbe. Ivar is a kid. He never had a father figure and when mom died his whole world came crashing down. You know how he worshipped her. He went through a lot and he’s an angry little bastard. He’s not dumb, though. He won’t throw away his life. And you can't blame him for the brawl he got in - not really. He was just defending himself and I think he was right in what he did.”

“That's what he’s saying but we have no clue what truly happened because he’s not telling us.”

“Then he has a reason for it.”

“And since when are you the head of the Ivar fan club?”

Hvitserk laughed at that. “Listen, being sober taught me one or two things, alright? I’m just saying that Ivar is not some evil creature that's out for blood for no reason. And I don't think you need to pour salt in front of your door at night or hang up talismans on the walls either to protect yourself from him. He’s just a kid. Our baby brother, who as far as I remember never slept dangling from the ceiling at any point. He will not end up in prison. Might I remind you that you thought the same thing about me, after all? You were always in my ear _‘Hvitty, you’ll end up in prison!’_ and yet, here I am.”

“But you almost killed yourself and Ivar before it clicked for you and if it hadn’t, maybe you would have ended up in prison after all.”

“You are such a negative nancy,” Hvitserk laughed. “Come on, so what Sigurd isn’t coming? Then we’ll celebrate alone. Just the three of us. Like the witches in Macbeth. We’ll have plenty of fun by ourselves.”

He tried to sound light-hearted and amused but Ivar could tell that it was just a facade. Hvitserk, the clown. Hvitserk, the jester. He tried to convince Ubbe of his words but they all knew that he didn't really mean them. Ivar’s temper had demanded another sacrifice. Another brother that he had scared off. Another brother that wouldn't return home to them. Not for the first time, Ivar wondered if his family wouldn't be better off if he wasn’t there.

He opened the door to the apartment behind him and then slammed it shut so that his brothers would know he was there. He acted as if he had just come in through the door as Ubbe appeared in the living room door. Otherwise, Ivar thought, he wouldn't be able to face them if they knew he had heard them.

“Hey!” Ubbe grinned. “You are back already? How was your day?”

“My soul feels cleaner already,” He huffed with a small roll of his eyes. He wanted to go to his room immediately to marinade in the information he had just overheard but since Ubbe didn't know that he knew he had to at least fake it. After all, he would much rather be on Ubbe’s good side again. “I did confessions today.”

“You- Really?” Ubbe asked with raised brows. “Wow. Cool!” He then said and ruffled his hair. It was a small gesture yet it held so much more weight for Ivar than his brother would ever understand. “Care to help me make dinner?”

“Sure,” Ivar said even though his heart still ached a little. He caught a glimpse of Hvitserk sitting in the living room on their dark grey sofa. His brother just turned on the TV as their eyes met. For a second, Ivar was almost certain that Hvitserk knew that Ivar had heard them talk.

※※※※※※※

The night was warm and pleasant as he sat on the edge of the roof, looking up at the stars above him. Out here, so close to the sea, it was much easier to see the stars as the light pollution was not as bad as in bigger cities. Not that Ivar had ever been to a bigger city. His entire life had played out in Kattegat. He had always enjoyed stargazing and remembered many occasions where he and his brothers had wandered into the hills during summer to camp outside and stargaze together. Those were his most cherished memories. 

Now he was alone and blew smoke through his nostrils after leading the cigarette back to his lips.

Even before the voice of his brother Hvitserk chimed up, he grew aware of his presence behind him. Hvitserk’s steps were heavy as he moved up the stairs leading towards the roof. “If Ubbe would know that you are smoking, he would rip your head off!”

“And yours too,” Ivar shot back. “It's your cigs, after all.”

“I already wondered if I had lost them,” Hvitserk huffed as he walked over and sat down beside him. He stole the cigarette out from between Ivar’s lips and took a drag himself. Ivar was not really a heavy smoker but every once in a while he desired the calming effect of the nicotine. As Hvitserk handed the cigarette back he took another drag but left the rest of the cigarette to his older brother then. “So, what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing is _bothering_ me.”

“Sure,” Hvitserk snorted. “You dragged your ass up here because nothing is bothering you. You heard us earlier, didn't you?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Ah,” He huffed and bumped his shoulder with Ivar’s. “Sure. So you don't know that Sigurd isn’t coming to celebrate Midsummer.”

“Really?”

“Ivar…”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Are you angry?”

“Oh please, why would I be angry?” Ivar groaned. “I’m glad that he isn’t coming home. I wouldn't be able to stand seeing his fucking face anyway. I’m glad he isn’t coming home! He would ruin everything!”

“Sure,” Hvitserk sighed and put his arm around his shoulders. “So … are you ever going to tell me why you beat up this other guy at school? Ubbe thinks he’s been raising a psychopath.”

“And what if he’s right?”

“He isn't,” Hvitserk sighed and blew smoke through his nostrils. “You are still sleeping with your IKEA shark. You are no psychopath. You just have anger issues.”

“Ah, Dr. Hvitserk is at it again.”

“I don't need to be a therapist to know that you have anger issues. A blind man would be able to see that from a mile away, baby brother. And it's understandable too. So? Tell me. What happened at school? Despite what Sigurd or Bjorn would say, you didn't beat this kid up for no reason.”

“What do you want to hear from me, Hvitty?” He sighed at last. “That Oleg and his asshole friends kept harassing me because I’m gay?” He sent a sharp glare his brother’s way but Hvitserk didn't flinch away. “That day he waited for me outside after class. He wanted to beat me up with his friends. I had enough, okay? I fought back for once and I don't regret it!”

Hvitserk was quiet for a moment as he looked out over the city again and finished his cigarette before snipping it over the edge. Of course, that was not the entire story but it had to be enough for now. “So that's where all your bruises came from during those past months, huh?” It wasn't really a question but Ivar nodded anyway. If he wouldn't know any better he would say that Hvitserk was angry. “Good. I’m glad you broke that asshole’s jaw. I hope he thinks a lot about you now that he can’t talk. I wished you would have told me, though. I would have beaten him up myself.”

“Wow, my hero,” Ivar mocked rolling his eyes, and Hvitserk gently shoved him. After that, they fell into a comfortable silence for a moment before he looked at his brother again. “I have a confession to make.”

“I’m all ears.”

“The priest I’m working with-”

“Father Michael?”

“Father Heahmund,” He corrected with a grin. “He’s _hot_.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ…”

**-End of Chapter 3-**


	4. Chapter 4

The sky should be grey and overcast but it was not. It was a ridiculously sunny day in mid-July. Ivar watched from the window of their house how Ubbe helped Bjorn to load up his car as if everything was fine, as if Bjorn was not abandoning them. In fact, everyone was acting as if it was normal what was happening. No one seemed upset. Not even Floki as he came by to help. The court hearing had been only last week. The ink on the documents that made Ubbe into the legal guardian of his three younger brothers had not dried yet and Bjorn was already running off and abandoning them. 

Yet, as Ivar watched from his seat in the open window, everyone was all smiles and jokes. Bjorn even had the audacity to wave at him from the street as Ivar kept staring daggers at him. He had not spoken a word to Bjorn ever since he had informed them of his decision to leave Norway now that Ubbe was of age and could take care of them. What kind of brother would do something like that? What man would do something like that? Abandoning his family like this.

Well, then again, Bjorn was Ragnar’s son. He followed in their father’s footsteps for sure. And yet no one acted as if it was a big deal. Everyone was looking at him as if he was pitching a fit like a toddler with a temper tantrum in a supermarket over some Kinder Eggs. He was _eleven_. He was allowed to throw a temper tantrum. This was not a temper tantrum, though. He was hurt. He was hurt and everyone seemed to disregard how he felt because it was just him, just bratty, childish Ivar. Well, at least he had an excuse why he was not down there with the rest of his family and helping Bjorn to leave them. His shinbone had broken in two the day after the court hearing. He blamed Bjorn for that little accident. He would have not tried to leave the house in the asscrack of dawn to go to the playground on his own and falling down the fucking stairs if Bjorn wouldn't be leaving them.

This morning Bjorn had thrown an angry fit as he had seen the little message that Ivar had left him - in the paint of his brand new car. He had yelled and beaten on his and Sigurd’s door but Ivar had kept ignoring him, listening to how Ubbe had tried desperately to calm Bjorn down, promising to pay for the damage. Bjorn had denied that, though. Well, perhaps he was not as rotten as Ivar thought he was. He watched idly how they were putting the last boxes in the back of Bjorn’s new car.

“Ivar!” Ubbe called up to him as he watched how Bjorn hugged first Sigurd and then Hvitserk. “Come down already! Bjorn is leaving now!” 

Well, Bjorn was not the only one he had not been talking to since the court hearing. In fact, he had not said a single word since then and he didn't plan on changing anything about it. Why would he? What would it matter? It didn't matter what he would say, after all. No one was listening and people kept leaving him regardless of what he would say. Surely, in two years, when Hvitserk would be of age, Ubbe would repeat what Bjorn had done and abandon them too. Ubbe always did what Bjorn did. He ignored Ubbe’s command and just flipped his brothers off before maneuvering himself down onto the ground. He didn't plan on leaving his room anytime soon. He had a box of cookies under his bed that would get him through the day. Instead, he just leaned against the wall underneath the window and kept listening.

“Leave him be,” he heard Bjorn’s voice waft through the air. “He’s going to come around eventually.”

“He’s just throwing a tantrum again,” Sigurd scoffed. “Like he always fucking does. He always needs to be the center of attention. Even now.”

“It's alright,” Bjorn huffed but didn't disagree with Sigurd. “He’s still a child.”

※※※※※※※

“You seem to be in a bad mood today,” Heahmund greeted him as he arrived at the church again this morning. It was the third day of this and already there seemed to be some sort of silent agreement that they would take turns buying the other one coffee to start out their day together.

It was true. He was in a bad mood. He had dreamed of the day Bjorn had left last night and ever since he was grouchy and bitter. Not even Hvitserk had dared to make a stupid joke over his cereal bowl when Ivar had maneuvered himself into the kitchen and bullied his way to the coffee maker. Bjorn had not once called or at least written a card or a letter. Nothing. Not a single word of this asshole that called them his baby brothers. Just like their fucking father. Ragnar would be proud indeed. Maybe he should be glad that Ragnar had not been around to raise him. Otherwise, he might have turned out like Bjorn too and who would want that?

“I’m fine,” He lied and for some reason, he immediately felt bad as he lied to Heahmund like this. He had no explanation as to why this made him feel bad, though. Perhaps this feeling of guilt came naturally when one did lie to a priest. Not that Ivar had that much experience when it came to talking to priests, right?

“Mhm,” Heahmund rolled his eyes as he took a sip from his coffee. “I can see that. Come on, tell me.”

“It's just,” Ivar groaned, frustrated with himself that he seemed unable to treat Heahmund like he treated most people he met and just ignore his well-meaning question. “that my big brother said he wouldn't come to celebrate midsummer in a few days. We always celebrated together.”

“The one with the car?”

“No,” He scoffed, silently amused that Heahmund remembered. “My youngest older brother,” He then huffed. “Number four.”

“You assigned numbers to them?”

“It's easier when you have so many of them around.” Heahmund laughed at that and the sound gave him back a little cheer. It was such a nice, rich sound. “Why doesn't he want to come?”

“Because of me,” He sighed and at Heahmund’s disbelieving look, he quickly continued. “Sigurd hates me. Ubbe and Hvitserk would never say that, of course. They said he wanted to celebrate with his new friends.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Heahmund asked calmly. “I mean if you have such a rocky relationship with your brother.”

“It's not!” He hissed but quickly reined himself in as he took a sip of his coffee. “I mean … it's a tradition. We were always together during midsummer, the four of us were. Through it all. Through dad abandoning us, through mom’s death, through Bjorn leaving … We always celebrated together. We always have a bonfire together and spend the whole night outside stargazing, eating, and playing stupid games. It is the only night in the year the four of us would always get along. Even Sigurd and I. Do you have siblings?”

“I have two brothers,” Heahmund said. “They are much older than I am, though, from my father’s first marriage. I never had a close bond with them even though I sometimes wish it would be different. Why don't you call your brother Sigurd yourself, Ivar? Ask him to come. I am sure he would do it.”

“I can't just … _call_ him.”

“Why not?”

He had no answer to that so he gulped down the coffee instead even at the danger of burning his throat. “I should go to work.” He didn't want to look like he was escaping but he realized that there was no way around it looking exactly like that. Well, Heahmund told him yesterday that he wouldn't judge him, right? Right. He could hear him laugh, though, as he quickly maneuvered his wheelchair through the church. Well, perhaps he deserved that.

The little routine that they had crafted throughout the previous two days, continued into the third day as well. Ivar was working outside in the garden, planting yet another flower bed. At noon, they sat together in the sunlight, ate and chatted a little, and, by the end of his workday, he asked again to confess something. This time he told Heahmund about the time he shoplifted at age thirteen and stole a crap ton of sweets for no other reason than feeling like it.

After he had received his penance and the absolution from Heahmund, the man placed a hand on his shoulder. “I start to think that your list might be a whole lot longer than I would have expected at first,” He said with a smirk.

“Perhaps,” Ivar replied with a smirk of his own. “But does it really matter how long my list is? All that matters is the fact that I desire change, right?”

“Of course,” Heahmund huffed and he looked as if he had already seen right through him and just decided to humor him for a little while longer. What that could mean, however, Ivar didn't dare to dream. It seemed, though, that Heahmund liked spending time with him just as much as the other way around. “Well as long as your desire to change is true” - The amused glint in his eyes spoke volumes now - “I will gladly hear everything you have on your list. You can talk to me whenever you want.”

※※※※※※※

He had never been to Sigurd’s apartment in Hedeby before but that didn't mean that he wouldn't know where to find his big brother. Even as he had never officially enquired about Sigurd’s address that didn't mean he had no means to find out where his brother lived now. In fact, if Sigurd really thought he would be able to escape him, he did not know him at all. Ivar had learned pretty early on in his young life that the job as the youngest sibling came with certain requirements and expectations and he was proud to state that he fulfilled all of them. 

His brother was not home as he reached his apartment but that only prompted Ivar to pick his lock. What else was he supposed to do, after all? He would certainly now wait in front of Sigurd’s apartment in his wheelchair like a good little boy or like some woman from a ‘historical romance novel’ that stood on some random shore in a flimsy white cotton dress with a rose pressed to her chest as she was waiting for her husband to return from war. It could be hours before his brother would return! Nevermind the fact that there was always the chance that Sigurd would see him waiting and quickly turn away again before Ivar would notice him. 

Maybe that thought was quite paranoid to have but he couldn't help it. Not after the way he and his brother had parted ways months ago. It had been ugly, of course. A lot of shouting and throwing insults had been involved in it and, yes, Ivar would go as far as to admit to himself that he might have been a little childish - even though he would deny that to his dying day if any of his brothers would ever confront him about it.

Sigurd’s flat was small - barely more than one room - but it was clean. Surprisingly clean, in fact, for a college kid Sigurd’s age - especially since Ivar had shared a room with his brother for his entire life and knew exactly that Sigurd was not a tidy person. Getting through the door into the apartment, Ivar ended up in one big room with a narrow kitchenette to the side, a futon bed squeezed into a corner that doubled as a bed and sofa, a simple table with two chairs, a desk, and a TV hanging on the wall. There was only one more door that was leading into the bathroom as Ivar quickly discovered. He wheeled further into the room and his eyes caught on a bunch of printed-out photos that were hanging all over the wall by Sigurd’s desk.

Curious - and in search of possible blackmail material - he moved towards the desk. Truth be told, Ivar had expected to see pictures of Sigurd and a girl or Sigurd and his friends plastered all over the wall. Instead, however, his own face stared back at him. There were dozens of photos of Ivar and his brothers, of Ubbe and Hvitserk. Most of them showed all four of them. He was surprised to see that Sigurd had put photos on his wall that showed just Ivar too - photos he didn't even know existed and had clearly been taken without his knowledge. At least two of them showed him sleeping. Even more surprised he was to realize that there was not one photo of Bjorn to be found. In fact, his eyes caught on a photo that Floki had taken of them seven years ago. He recognized it immediately. The spot where Bjorn should have been in the picture had been folded over neatly.

The sound of keys in the lock of the apartment door startled him but there was not enough time for him to wheel away from Sigurd’s wall of shame and pretend like he had not seen the photos. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Sigurd’s voice erupted from the doorway the second the young man had opened the door to his own home. For a second, it looked like Sigurd was about to pass out from the shock of finding an intruder in his apartment. He pressed a hand on his heart and sank against the doorframe like a Victorian lady that was about to faint dramatically at the sight of a spider in her boudoir. Quite theatrical, Ivar would say. Almost as if Sigurd had not been prepared for the day Ivar would break-in. "How the hell did you get in here?"

“It's a simple lock, don't act so surprised. Took me less than a minute. You should upgrade on that. I could have been a burglar or a murderer," Ivar huffed before he pointed at the photos. "Well, well, well,” Ivar drawled. “What do we have here, Sigurd? It almost looks like you missed me.”

“It almost looks like you broke into my apartment!” Sigurd shot back and slammed the offensive door shut behind him. His keys he threw on the kitchen table where they skidded across the wood and fell off on the other side.

"What was I supposed to do?" It was hard to keep a straight face at Sigurd’s plight. He was visibly uncomfortable by Ivar’s presence in his inner sanctum. Almost like that one time Ivar had caught him jerking off. "Did you take a photo of me sleeping?"

"To remind me of the rare moments of peace I had growing up!" Sigurd groaned as he finally walked over to his desk to put his bag down with a heavy thud. “What the hell are you even doing here? Did Ubbe finally throw you out?”

“I wouldn't come to you for shelter then,” Ivar scoffed with a roll of his eyes.

“Why did you come then?” Sigurd groaned as he walked over to his bed and sank down on the edge of it. Ivar had not seen his big brother for months now but Sigurd looked good. Different from how he had looked last time they had been together. College seemed to be good for him. Being away from Ivar seemed to be good for him. That was the sad truth of the matter as it seemed. He shouldn't have come. “How’s community service?” Sigurd then asked with a small grin pulling at his lips. It was clear that he found great amusement in the fact that his little brother had been prosecuted and punished in that way while he was living his best life here in Hedeby - the Big Apple of sleepy Norwegian coast towns. They had two cinemas in Hedeby. Two! It was quite the step up from Kattegat that much was certain. 

“Why won't you come to celebrate Midsummer with us?” He finally shot at his brother and gave his best to not sound petulant in any way. “Are you too good for us now?”

“What?” Sigurd seemed honestly surprised by this turn of events. “I just want to celebrate with my friends here in Hedeby. What's wrong with that?”

Ivar scowled at him in response. “You are a fucking asshole, Sigurd,” He then replied. “You are no fucking better than Bjorn.”

“Why?” Sigurd scoffed, not in the least bothered by this comment as it seemed or surprised that Ivar would react in such a way. “Because I have no interest in celebrating with you? Grow up.”

“Oh, because you are so grown up now that you live in this dumpster?” Ivar bit his tongue after that. It had not even taken five minutes for them to get into an argument again. Why had he even come here? What had he wanted to achieve with this visit? He had wanted an answer even though he had known the answer already. 

“At least I don't need to break into anyone’s flat just because no one wants to spend fucking time with me! At least I am not that much of a dickhead that people hate being around me! Unlike you, I actually do have friends and don't need to rely on my brothers to celebrate with me! Have you ever stopped to consider that Ubbe and Hvitserk might be fucking tired of your shit? Have you ever stopped to consider that neither one of them wants to celebrate with you either? I am just the first one to admit it and actually go through with it! Ubbe is too much of a coward. He doesn't want to upset the baby! And Hvitserk - fuck, it's just a matter of time until that guy relapses living under the same roof as you! Face it, Ivar! You are the one driving everyone away. _You_.”

A part of him wanted to attack and shoot something hurtful back. A part of him wanted to literally throw something at him. Instead, he grabbed the wheels of his wheelchair firmly and started wheeling towards the door. He was already at the door when he heard Sigurd get up from his bed.

“No … fuck … wait, okay?” He heard Sigurd groan as he opened the door. “Wait, Ivar. You know I didn't mean that.”

“Fuck you!” He hissed. “I hope you have a great fucking time with your awesome new friends in your awesome new life!”

“Ivar, come on, man! How are you getting home?”

“Don't worry about me, I’m managing life just fine on my own. Keep your fingers crossed! Maybe I will get run over by a fucking truck or something so that my family can finally take a breath of relief at last.” He slammed the door as he left and Sigurd, to no surprise, didn't come after him. 

※※※※※※※

It was late as Heahmund locked the doors of the church but thanks to the time of year, the sun was only just starting to sink into the sea, tempting him to go on a stroll across the harbor before he would go home. He had only moved to Kattegat six months ago and although he missed the serene tranquility of his home in Sherborne, Kattegat already felt like home to him. 

It was eight PM as he started walking away from the church and down the road. Luckily, Kattegat wasn't really all that big, just a couple of thousands of people living in the small seaport, and thus the church was barely more than ten minutes away from the harbor by foot. Having a car in a town like this didn't really seem to make much sense and so he had come to learn that the people that didn't need to leave town for work or school, usually didn't have cars either. Kattegat was the kind of town where one would be able to stroll down the middle of the road on a warm summer night without having to fear being run over by a car. The kind of town where everyone knew everyone. The kind of town where rumors spread like wildfire.

Today he had spoken to an old lady that had dropped by to hand him a self-made pie that he would share with Ivar tomorrow for lunch. He was used to that kind of little presents as much as he was used to the lascivious looks he would sometimes get from the women in his flock that had grown frustrated with their husbands. The rumors, however, Heahmund felt like he would never get used to. 

Of course, bringing him the pie had doubled as both endearing him to the old woman and to gain information from Heahmund. Apparently, it had already spread all throughout town that Ivar Lothbrok had been spotted going into the church every day for almost a week now. 

Ivar Lothbrok, who had not set foot into that same building for at least ten years now. Ivar Lothbrok whose mother was buried in the graveyard behind the church and whose dad had run off fifteen years ago and never been seen again. Ivar Lothbrok, who was living with his brothers - one of them being a junkie. Ivar Lothbrok, who, if the rumors were true, was gay. The word _‘gay’_ , Heahmund remembered, had been whispered as if it was a curse or as if the old lady had been afraid that the ground would open and swallow her whole because she used the word in a church. She had not been pleased to see that Heahmund had barely reacted to the news - not to mention that he had not reacted with the expected - or desired? - outrage. Instead, he had thanked her for her gift, stated that he was no fan of small-town rumors and that Ivar was pleasant company and a great help for him as long as the gardener was nursing his injury.

Of course, small towns like this always held a certain level of prejudice. The kind of prejudice that was handed down through the generations because nothing ever really changed around here. People didn't move here, people didn't leave. Sherborne was the same in that regard. He remembered the day a lesbian couple had opened shop in Sherborne when he was but a boy. The outrage in town had been crazy and it had taken years until it had settled. Until then, the women had been treated like they had some rare illness that might be highly contagious. When he had become older and noticed with growing despair that he was not all too interested in women himself, he had been deathly afraid of meeting a similar fate as that lesbian couple. Perhaps this experience had fueled his decision of joining the church. Now at least no one would ask him when he was going to marry, settle down, and have a bunch of kids.

As he reached the harbor he paused for a moment and took a deep breath to allow the salty air to fill his lungs and give him new energy. He let his gaze roam up and down the pier, listened to the cries of seagulls before his eyes caught on a lone figure sitting on the edge of the pier far down where a small fishing boat was tied up. _The Angrboda_ , if Heahmund remembered correctly. 

He was about to continue walking as he noticed the wheelchair standing beside the figure. He was surprised to see Ivar here. Not so much because he would have never thought the young boy would come to the pier, of course, but because Ivar had now told him a few times that his brother Ubbe expected him to return home immediately every day. In all honesty, he found it hilarious that Ivar who seemed so cock-sure of himself was bossed around by his big brother like this and would actually obey his orders. In a way, it was cute.

Before he could think twice about it, Heahmund walked down the pier. Ivar did not turn around as Heahmund’s footsteps vibrated on the wood. He seemed completely lost in his own thoughts the way he sat there, his feet dangling just inches above the water surface, the wind playing with the few strands of hair that had gotten loose from the ‘man bun’ he was always sporting. Before Ivar reacted to his presence, Heahmund was already next to him and sat down beside him. 

“Your brother will be angry when you get home,” He joked good-naturedly. To his surprise, Ivar did not show any surprise of his own to his presence or his words. He noticed right away that the boy was trying to digest something that lay heavy in his stomach. 

“He will probably disown me and put me up for adoption in light of my disobedience.” 

“Mhm…” Heahmund responded with a soft sigh. “You are doomed. I agree.”

“What a shame,” Ivar huffed. “Well, I guess I could just throw myself in the water then. Spare Ubbe the hassle of getting all worked up.”

“Can't you swim?”

“Nope!” The boy popped the p at the end of the word and Heahmund allowed an amused snort to slip out. He enjoyed Ivar’s company. It hadn't been a lie what he said to the old lady. It was odd, really. He couldn't recall ever having felt like this before. He was comfortable with Ivar in a way that he hadn’t been before with anyone else in his life. Perhaps it was just the feeling that Ivar would not judge him no matter what Heahmund would say to him. 

“I have pie for you tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Ivar hummed and leaned his head back a little. The dying light of the sun danced on his face. Ivar tilted his head just slightly to the side to meet him with a lopsided little grin that did not quite reach his eyes. He seemed oddly troubled. Not that he wouldn't look troubled every other day too. Heahmund had, despite his young age, more than enough experience with young people to have realized that Ivar was a troubled young man right from the beginning. “Let me guess, one of the old witches wanted to know why the antichrist is entering the church every day.”

“Something like this,” Heahmund laughed. “But why do you say antichrist? People can not possibly think so badly of you.”

“You would be surprised.” 

“Tell me about it,” Heahmund offered. Ivar didn't seem to have many people that would be willing to lend him their ear - other than his brothers and he wondered just how much attention they were truly giving him. It seemed to Heahmund that it was not nearly enough. Not after the list of petty crimes that Ivar had offered him so far during confession. All of them spoke clearly of a kid that was desperate for any kind of attention, no matter if it was good or bad. And behind all of that was a sharp mind and, probably, a big heart, waiting to be discovered by someone who was willing to risk the plunge. 

“Where would I even start?” He laughed. “My family is kinda infamous in Kattegat. The Lothbroks have always been an important family here. We can trace our lineage back to the Viking age, you know? People in Kattegat value stuff like that. I am kind of the … black sheep of this long line of very important people. My ancestors built this town up through generations and generations but me and my brothers … Well, we don't really fit the expectations of the good people of Kattegat. But I’m sure you already know all about that. Rumors spread fast in this town.”

“I don't give much credit to those.”

“You should,” Ivar huffed. “Most of them are true.”

He was about to say something as a voice called out to Ivar. As Heahmund turned to look behind himself, he noticed a tall young man with blonde hair striding down the pier, his eyes laser-focused on Ivar. He didn't seem angry, however. He wore his hair in a loose bun much like Ivar did as well and he had a certain spring in his step even now as he was clearly on a mission to find the disobedient teen.

“There you are!” The man called out to Ivar. “Ubbe is fucking livid!”

Ivar sighed but slowly, and very carefully maneuvered his legs back onto the pier. “My babysitter is here,” He told Heahmund with a roll of his eyes. “I guess it's bedtime for me now. See you tomorrow.”

“Do you need help?” Heahmund asked as he watched how Ivar slowly crawled over to his wheelchair. He had seen the young man maneuver his uncooperative body around numerous times already and yet every time he would ask the same question and every time he would get the same answer to be left amazed just how Ivar handled himself.

“No,” He said. “Thank you, it's fine.” Ivar heaved himself into the wheelchair just as the young man - his brother, probably - arrived at his side.

“You must be the priest,” The man said. “I hope you don't try to seduce my little brother-”

“Hvitserk!”

“To become a disciple of God, I meant!” Hvitserk laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter!” Heahmund would have been annoyed under different circumstances but for some odd reason, he had to actually fight an amused grin. “It's time to go home now - before Ubbe calls the cops to go find you.”

“He is such a drama queen…” Ivar huffed.

“Coming from you that's kinda big!”

Hvitserk took the handles of his brother’s wheelchair and didn't even wait for his permission to start walking away. Heahmund watched how the Lothbrok brothers left the pier and it didn't escape him how Ivar turned his head to look back at him.

**-End of Chapter 4-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to go up on Monday but I couldn't wait


	5. Chapter 5

Ubbe was fuming. That had to be expected, of course. In fact, Ivar _had_ expected it. Ubbe was always fuming when he was looking at him lately. He wished he wouldn't. He wished Ubbe would look at him the same way he used to look at him - the same way his mother used to look at him. He missed Ubbe. He missed his big brother’s presence in his life and being looked at without such scrutiny and distrust all the time. The way he stood there now in the hallway of their apartment, his arms crossed, his hair all ruffled up - he was the perfect image of the mother-hen that they kept making fun of him for being. 

“Where have you been? You should have been home hours ago!” That was the way Ubbe greeted him as he came through the door with Hvitserk that night. All Ubbe was missing now were the rollers in his hair, the green face mask, and a fluffy pink dressing gown to make the illusion of a furious mom perfect. He was doing a fine job without all of this though. Their mother would be proud of her eldest son. 

“Am I your fucking prisoner now?” Granted, it might have not been the best idea to come back at Ubbe like that. His temper, however, had a mind of its own. It seemed no matter how hard he tried to get it under control, no matter how pure his intentions were, his temper always got the better of him. Sigurd came to mind in a flash. He had gone to his big brother to talk to him honestly, to inquire why he didn't want to celebrate with them, to tell him that it was tradition, to ask him to come, to tell him that he really wanted him there. Instead, all he had done was getting in a fight with Sigurd once again. His intentions had been pure and he had even felt quite touched when he had seen the photos on Sigurd’s walls and yet he had provoked his big brother into a fight and thus proved Sigurd’s points about him. Even now, as he should lower his gaze and act remorseful, he was antagonizing Ubbe instead.

“This is my fucking apartment, Ivar,” Ubbe hissed. If the situation would be any different, Ivar would bark out a laugh as his big brother honest to God was coming at him with this kind of speech. “I make the rules here. You are still a child and I do not fucking care how close you are to eighteen! You are seventeen! You are a child! And that means that I am responsible for you.” He half expected him to say something to the extent of _‘as long as you put your feet under my table…’_. “If you go against my rules then I will deliver you personally to the church every morning and pick you back up every evening!”

“Listen, perhaps you should be seeing a therapist for your control issues,” Ivar spat back at him and carefully tried maneuvering around his big brother even though Ubbe stood in the middle of their narrow and not necessarily wheelchair-friendly hallway like the Colossus of Rhodes. 

All he wanted to do now was go his room and pretend like his existence was just a myth to be discussed on Buzzfeed Unsolved. It was late and he was tired. It had been a long, exhausting day and the longer this day got, it seemed, the more and more he was making an absolute ass out of himself. After all, it was not like he wanted to be such an unpleasant person! He wasn’t behaving like this when he was around Heahmund. Granted, that might be because he wanted to get underneath the priest’s robes, but still. Why could he not behave like this when he was with his own brothers? The people he loved the most in this world? Of course, Ubbe stood his ground. He would not let him get off the hook this easily.

“I’m not done yet!” Ubbe growled as he eventually had to take a step to the side so that Ivar would not run him over with his wheelchair. His brothers knew better than to expect him to stop just because they stood in his way. Ivar was, at times, like a rampaging bull and his family knew that. 

“Well, sucks for you!” Ivar shot back right away. “Because I’m done with _you_!”

“What's that supposed to mean?” His big brother even had the audacity to raise his eyebrows in confusion as if he truly did not understand his anger. Well, to be fair, half the time Ivar did not understand his own anger himself. It tended to sneak up on him like a predator in the woods, going straight for the kill if he let his guard down.

“Exactly what I’m saying! I’m done with your bullshit, Ubbe! I’m done with being treated like some criminal by you! I’m doing my community service, I’m going through with my punishment! What more do you fucking want? You act like I killed your dog!”

“I am just worried about you!”

“You don't need to be!”

“I am responsible for you! Of course, I need to worry about you!”

“You are not mom, Ubbe!”

“Yeah, and you should be fucking glad that I’m not mom!” Ubbe shot back right away. And here they were again. The same topic they so often came back to, the same topic they tried to avoid at all costs. The bright pink elephant in the room balancing on a unicycle. He felt his stomach twist and the way Ubbe’s face contorted into a grimace told him that he felt the same way.

“Guys…” Hvitserk sighed - at last reminding both of his brothers of his presence. Poor Hvitserk, the epitome of the middle child, always stuck right in between his brothers, always trying to make peace between them. “Come on, could you just … not fight again? Cut the kid some slack, Ubbe. So what if he didn't come home right away? He didn't get into trouble. He did not murder someone, robbed a bank, or kidnapped a dog, he just wanted some time to himself. It's not that big of a deal.”

“Stop defending him, Hvitserk!”

“I’m not-” Hvitserk let out a groan and dragged a hand down his face. “You know what? Have at it. I’m out.” 

Ivar noticed the way Ubbe pinched his lips and clenched his jaw as Hvitserk turned back around to leave the apartment. If it were Ivar, Ubbe would say something and try to keep him inside the apartment but it was different with Hvitserk. For one, of course, because he was an adult and not Ubbe’s responsibility anymore. More importantly, however, they had an agreement, Ubbe and Hvitserk. Ubbe would not tell Hvitserk what to do or try to stop him from doing anything and Hvitserk knew that if he would slip up again, he would be out on the streets and this time there would be no second chance. 

Ivar, however, always got agitated when Hvitserk would get into a mood like this and just vanish into the night. The moment the door fell shut behind Hvitserk’s retreating form, he turned back to Ubbe. “How can you let him leave like that? You know how he is! What if he runs into his old friends again?”

Ubbe let out a deep sigh and returned to the living room, almost as if he had decided to ignore everything his baby brother had just said. This time, however, it was Ivar who wouldn't leave Ubbe alone as he followed his big brother into the living room. A couple of take-away containers were littered over their coffee table and only now Ivar realized that he had not had anything to eat yet since his lunch with Heahmund. His stomach was growling at the smell in the living room but he bit down on it. It wouldn't be the first time that he would deliberately go hungry just to make a point. What point that would be today he was not sure and it really didn't matter either. He watched how his Ubbe sank deeply into the grey sofa and leaned his head back. Ubbe looked absolutely exhausted and Ivar felt almost sorry for him. 

“He is an adult, Ivar,” He said at last. Ivar snorted in response and opened his mouth to speak but his brother was quick to cut him off. “We have an agreement. You know that. If he messes up again, he’s out.”

“Aren't you worried?”

“Of course I am! I am worried every fucking day!” The glare Ubbe sent his way was almost enough to shut him up for tonight. “I am worried about Hvitserk, I am worried about Sigurd, I am worried about you! But I cannot control what Hvitserk is doing, right? There would be little sense in keeping him under my thumb and treating him like a child that cannot make decisions for itself. He got clean. It's his responsibility to stay clean now. I cannot do it for him. He has to make that decision himself and follow his own path in life. Just like I cannot decide what you are doing. If you want to get into bigger and bigger problems, fine, suit yourself, but don't come crying to me when you end up in jail one day. I did what I could.”

“Yet, you treat me like a child.”

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I don't need protection, though!” Ivar hissed and this time as Ubbe looked at him it _was_ actually enough to make Ivar keep his mouth shut. This time, Ubbe didn't glare at him. He didn't snarl. He didn't growl. He didn't say anything. In fact, to any stranger, he would look calm. Ivar, however, knew not to prod now. There were things that they didn't talk about in this family. Topics that always seemed to simmer right underneath the surface but always being pushed down. “I wished Mom was here…” He said instead of prodding further. Ubbe, however, scoffed and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. There was a soccer game on. Denmark versus Germany.

“You have a very skewed memory of what mom was like, Ivar,” Ubbe sighed but, as always, he wouldn't elaborate on what he really thought. _Mom_. That was yet another of those topics always simmering beneath the surface. Mom. The fire. Ivar himself barely remembered the night his life had fallen apart. He had been seven years old. All he remembered, all his nightmares sometimes threw back into his face, was the flames licking at the ceiling, the smoke in his lungs, and someone grabbing him and running through the flames.

“I was in Hedeby if you really must know…” He gave up at last. “I wanted to talk to Sigurd and ask him why he doesn't want to come to celebrate with us…”

This finally granted him Ubbe’s full attention. He could tell how he became annoyed, then curious, and, lastly, regarded him with pity. He hated nothing more than pity. “What did he say?” Ubbe then asked calmly as if he wouldn't already know, as if it wouldn't be some big, cruel joke that his big brothers all shared with each other.

“He wants to spend the day with his friends…”

“Well, then it's only going to be the three of us,” Ubbe said and offered a smile before he pointed at the TV. “Care to watch the game with me?”

It was an olive branch. The rebellious teenage part of his brain told him no but the part that just wanted to be with his big brother made him grin and nod before he got out of his wheelchair and onto the ground to crawl over to the sofa. A moment later he was beside Ubbe, watching a soccer game he didn't particularly care about and munching on cold fries.

He didn't sleep well that night. Flames were licking at the ceiling of his home in his dreams and thunder was roaring. He hadn't dreamed about the fire for a long time now and as he woke up with a startled gasp, he was certain at first that it had been his dream kicking him awake before he realized that someone was sitting at the edge of his bed. Even in the half-light of the moon shining through the window, he recognized Hvitserk right away.

“Bad dream?” Hvitserk asked quietly.

“Mhm…” He nodded as he propped himself up on his elbows. It was warm but the real heatwave was yet to come. “When did you come home?”

“Just now,” Hvitserk huffed. “What did you dream about?”

Ivar was quiet for a moment before he allowed a deep sigh to escape his lips. “The fire,” He said and Hvitserk hummed in understanding. Ivar watched him kick off his shoes before he got up from Ivar’s bed again. He expected his big brother to go to bed on the other side of the room but instead, Hvitserk just took off his jeans and then returned to him. 

“Scoot over,” He demanded and as Ivar didn't comply, his brother just shoved him to the side and against the wall to make room for himself as he climbed into Ivar’s bed. His cheeks were burning and he was thankful for the darkness of their room. 

“I’m not a child anymore,” He groaned in response to Hvitserk’s odd behavior. If he wouldn't knot any better, he would ask him if he was high. “I don't need you to sleep in my bed. I’m fine.”

“Mhm,” Hvitserk hummed as he already made himself comfortable. “Of course, yes.”

He rolled his eyes with a groan before he turned onto his side and away from Hvitserk so that he was facing the wall instead. He couldn't deny to himself, however, that the presence of his big brother by his side calmed him down quite a bit. He would, of course, deny it to his dying day to everyone else. Perhaps the most annoying thing about all of that was that his brother knew the effect his closeness had on Ivar’s racing mind and heart. 

※※※※※※※

The day was overcast as he sat down with Heahmund for lunch in the garden again. He could only hope that tomorrow the sun would be shining bright again for the Midsummer celebrations. He noticed how Heahmund was looking at him with curiosity - like some anthropologist trying to make sense of a new kind of humanoid species. 

“Is there something on my face, Priest?” He finally decided to break the spell - much to Heahmund’s surprise too as the priest blinked and looked away for a second as if having been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I was just wondering,” The man said without elaborating any further. How infuriating! For the most part, Ivar enjoyed his conversations with the other man - except for the rare occasions when Heahmund decided to become the cryptic NPC of some video game.

“About what?”

“You.” Well, and wasn’t that just flattering? Even at the prospect of Heahmund thinking about him during his spare time - or right now for that matter - Ivar’s heart started racing. It was just one more ugly truth about his life so far that he had never deemed it possible that anyone - especially not someone as handsome as Heahmund - would waste a thought about him. Most people only saw the wheelchair - or his crutches. Most people only saw the cripple and didn't want to bother with him because of it. In a way, he could understand it. He was an inconvenience and why should anyone further inconvenience themselves?

“And what is there to ponder about me?” He decided to ask with a teasing smile that was immediately echoed by the priest.

“Nothing really,” Heahmund said with a laugh. “You said that your mother died.” Well, that was certainly a way to take the wind out of his sails. Ivar could do nothing but give his best impression of a goldfish for a couple of seconds until Heahmund decided to explain why he was bringing it up. After all, a topic like this was not exactly something you discuss during your lunch break completely unprompted and out of the blue. “Do you want to talk about it?”

No, he thought. He didn't want to talk about it. 

“There isn't much to talk about, I guess,” He said instead of what really was on his mind and scratched his neck - just one of his plenty self-soothing habits that Heahmund had most certainly already picked up on while watching him like a total creep from a distance. Thinking about his mother always made him a little uncomfortable and he couldn't quite tell why that was. He had adored his mother, after all, and her death had shattered his entire world, marking the end of his childhood. 

“How did it happen?” 

Ivar scoffed and rolled his eyes at the question. “Oh please, don't act as if you have not already heard the story … She fell asleep with a cigarette and the house burned down. It's a miracle that my brothers and I survived.”

“Do you remember the fire?”

“Not really,” Ivar shrugged. “I was seven, so … I remember being in the hospital for a while after that. I almost died of smoke poisoning. My brothers were more lucky. They got away with minor injuries. I remember that someone carried me out of the house. Ubbe - probably. But that's all. I don't remember my childhood all that much anyway.”

Heahmund was silent again and directed his gaze at the garden that was surrounding him. Sitting here and seeing what he had so far achieved actually gave Ivar a sense of pride. Heahmund, however, did not allow silence to hang over them for too long. Quickly, his eyes came back to Ivar with the same level of intensity that Ivar was used to by now and still left him breathless. “What was your mother like?”

He blinked once more in surprise at this question even though it probably should not surprise him considering the direction this lunch break conversation had taken so far. “She was beautiful,” Ivar said after a moment of hesitation. “The most beautiful woman in Kattegat. No wonder my father left his first wife for her, really. She was calm and kind and loving. She adored me and I adored her.” Heahmund looked at him as if he was not satisfied with the answer. The expression on the priest’s face left him confused and uneasy, so he quickly decided to change the topic before Heahmund could ask any more questions about his mother. “I went to Sigurd, yesterday.”

“And how did that go?”

“As well as anyone who knows us would have expected, I guess,” He laughed. “He kinda took offense to me breaking into his apartment.”

“Is this another petty crime you want to confess?”

“Is it really considered a crime when one breaks into the home of their own brother? I think that just comes with the territory of being the youngest sibling.”

“In that case, you are absolved.” Heahmund chuckled and the sound was like balsam for his aching soul. “Did you ask him why he doesn't want to come tomorrow?”

“Yeah … he said it was because of his friends and then we started arguing. Same old, same old. I don't know why I even tried…”

“You love your brother,” Heahmund offered with a small shrug. “It's just that simple, Ivar. You want him to be there tomorrow. That's why you went to him. This midsummer celebration with your brothers was the one constant in your life and now that Sigurd has moved on from this, it hurts and you want him to come back for it.”

He wanted to argue but he knew that the man was right. Still, he didn't like to admit his feelings. Not that anyone would care about his feelings anyway, right? Most people dismissed him for being nothing but a troublemaker, an attention seeker. Maybe that was not so wrong, considering that he was confessing all kinds of petty crimes to Heahmund on a daily basis now just to get a few moments more of his unbridled attention.

“Well … we will be just fine without him,” Ivar said and emptied his cup of coffee. “We’ll have a grand old time.”

“I don't doubt it.” 

※※※※※※※

The sun did not let them down as the three brothers arrived in the hills high above Kattegat the next day. Armed with their little camping grill, enough food to feed an army of Vikings, sleeping bags, and everything else they might need, they drove up the rocky roads to their usual camping spot in Ubbe’s old, green, and rather beat-up looking Honda that he had bought with eighteen from some old lady living near the harbor. The old lady had died three years ago, and, by all means, her car should have followed her to the grave judging by the weird coughing sounds it always produced when Ubbe would switch gears. 

The mood was good despite everything that had happened this year and, considering that it was only June, that was quite the achievement. They didn't talk about Sigurd for most of the day. Instead, they bathed in the stream as they did as kids, splashing each other with water and playing like they had no care in the world. Ivar even resisted the urge to drown Hvitserk as he had the audacity to force a pair of floaties onto Ivar’s biceps while Ubbe had laughed and helped his younger brother in his attack on a defenseless cripple.

For a few precious, sunny hours everything was forgotten. Their dad leaving them, their mom dying in a fire, Bjorn abandoning them, Hvitserk’s drug addiction, Sigurd leaving for college, Ubbe’s constant worrying about them, Ivar’s criminal record. For just a few hours, they were children once more and had no burden on their shoulders except for applying enough sunscreen. It was easy to forget that the real world even existed as they were out here by themselves. However, even though they were not once saying their brother’s name, it still hung in the air, the elephant in the room, another thing that was simmering underneath the surface, another thing they were not talking about.

As it was nearing night and the air up in the hills became colder, Ivar helped his big brothers set up their bonfire like he had done so often in the past. They were so engrossed in their work that they didn't hear the approaching car at first. A honk startled all three of them and as they looked up they saw the unfamiliar black SUV parking next to Ubbe’s old Honda. A moment later, they watched in awe how Sigurd climbed out of the car, a sheepish grin on his face and his sleeping bag under his arm. 

Ivar couldn't deny that he was just as surprised as Ubbe and Hvitserk were that Sigurd had come after all - and he could already tell that his brothers were adamant to act as if this was not a big deal at all. Well, that was how their family dealt with shit, after all. They played things down. They acted as if things didn't matter. They swept things under the rug. Especially when it came to feelings. For Ivar, however, it was not always so easy to sweep his hurt feelings under the rug. Not after the ugly comments that Sigurd had thrown at him as if it meant nothing.

“Hey, guys!” Sigurd greeted as he strolled over. He paused only briefly and pointed over his shoulder to the car he had come with and that was, most certainly, not his. “I brought … beer. Non-alcoholic… of course...”

Hvitserk cheered as he got up to walk to the SUV, smacking his little brother’s ass as he walked past him. Ivar directed his attention back to the fire so that Ubbe could go and greet Sigurd as he knew he wanted to. Sure enough, Ubbe got up to hug Sigurd and direct him towards their bonfire as if Sigurd wouldn't knot the drill. 

“Hey…” Sigurd murmured a little quieter as he sat down beside Ivar on the ground. He noticed briefly how Hvitserk and Ubbe made a point of being extra loud as they were getting the cooler out of the Honda and the beer from Sigurd’s car. The thought made him smile a little. Despite their rather dysfunctional relationships, they still knew each other well enough to know when to step aside and back off for a bit. 

“Hey,” Ivar bit back out and didn't even attempt to take the sharpness out of his voice. “I thought you were with your friends. What? Had they had enough of you already?”

He didn't need to look at Sigurd to know that he was rolling his eyes. It was like a sixth sense telling him exactly what kind of expression his brother had going on right now. “I’m sorry,” Sigurd then breathed out. Well, that got him Ivar’s attention for sure. “For what I said to you. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“You didn't.” Ivar shrugged. “Now shut up.” 

Sigurd knew exactly that he had hurt Ivar deeply. Deeply in a way that only family could hurt each other. He knew Ivar’s biggest insecurities and he had aimed at them deliberately to hurt him. Yet, they were brothers. They were family. And he didn't want to lose more family than he already had. Not even Sigurd. It was not all bad, after all, looking back. There had been times when they had gotten along. He remembered Sigurd sitting with him in his bed the night that Ubbe had kicked Hvitserk out five years ago. He had been holding Ivar’s hand the entire time their brothers had yelled and screamed at each other. He had been twelve at the time and remembered how he had sought out comfort in Sigurd as he had been forced to listen to Ubbe and Hvitserk go at it. Still, even as kids, their relationship had often been strained and all of that only because their mother had loved Ivar more than Sigurd.

They spent the rest of the evening eating and drinking until the sun finally set late. Down in Kattegat people were now dancing around the Majstång, girls, and women in flowy white dresses with crowns of leaves or flowers on their heads. The four Lothbrok brothers, however, had everything they needed or wanted right here with them. Despite the time of year and the warm summer days, it was still cold at night and so, as the moon was rising, the four brothers crawled into their sleeping bags around the fire, above them the clear starry sky - the only thing that had not changed at all since their childhood. It was bringing a sense of comfort to him.

“So, how is the community service going?” Sigurd asked after a while, his tone playful. “Can we expect you to behave like a proper angel from now on since you go to church every day?” 

Hvitserk let out a snorting laugh. “You bet!” He laughed. “The first thing out of his mouth was that the priest is hot! I bet 5 bucks he will come out of this experience having seduced a man of God!”

“I’m holding your five bucks,” Sigurd huffed and Ivar raised his half-empty bottle at him as a sign of appreciation. Apparently, his brothers were more confident in his seduction skills than he was himself.

“What? No fucking way!” Ubbe groaned. “Jesus Christ, he is a _priest_!”

“So what?” Ivar laughed. “I always loved a good challenge.”

“Ivar!” Ubbe tried to sound threatening but he couldn't help the laugh that was slipping from his throat instead. “Keep your hands away from the hot priest, you spawn of Satan!”

“You know how well I’m doing with bans, right?” Ivar cackled and Ubbe let out a theatrical groan. “The more you tell me that I can not do a thing, the more I want it!”

“Let the kid have some fun with the priest,” Hvitserk laughed. “As long as he practices safe sex, of course.”

“I’m going right to sleep,” Sigurd laughed. “Immediately!”

“You are all children,” Ubbe snorted. “Babies.”

“Which makes you our babysitter,” Ivar threw back before he turned back to the actual question at hand. “Most of the time I am gardening anyway. Not much time to seduce the hot priest while he tends to his sheep.”

It was still weird for him to actually talk about shit like this with his big brothers. For a long time, his sexuality had been yet another one of those things that had gotten swept under the rug. Not because his brothers would judge him or be disgusted by it and more so because they didn't know how to talk about it. Then again, in their defense, he had come out to them not too long ago anyway. They all still needed adjusting. However, Ivar had quickly made it a point to talk about hot guys at his school just like his brothers would talk about hot girls. Still, it was strange for Ivar. Luckily, the topic was over and done with after that. Sigurd spoke about his life at campus, his work at the coffee shop, and his new friends as they were stargazing like they used to do as children. Ubbe was actually the first to fall asleep as was evident by his snoring softly wafting across the hills. Not ten minutes later, Hvitserk had followed his big brother into dreamland.

In the end, the only ones awake were Sigurd and Ivar, just like it used to be. Their sleeping bags were close together as well and so he was not surprised when Sigurd spoke up silently again. “So you’re really into the priest?”

“A little,” he huffed - surprised by Sigurd’s question. After all, it wasn’t like they were the type of siblings that would openly talk about such a thing with each other. “He’s actually quite nice. Not like you would expect. And he’s definitely not trying to convert me into a good little Christian.”

“He would fail that mission anyway.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few moments before Ivar turned his head towards Sigurd. “I have a question,” He said quietly. “Ubbe said something to me the other day.”

“What did he say?”

“That my memories of mom were skewed. Have you any idea what he meant by that?” Sigurd was silent after that and turned his head away to stare at the sky instead of his baby brother. “Sigurd?”

“You won’t like it,” Sigurd then said as he turned his head back to look at him. The light of the flames danced across his brother’s face and painted shadows where there shouldn’t be any under normal circumstances. “And I don't want to fight again. Not tonight.”

“Just … tell me,” Ivar sighed. “I mean … what's the issue? Mom was great.”

“No she was really not, Ivar,” Sigurd then gave up at last. There was it again, the elephant. He could see a hint of anger in Sigurd’s eyes, something simmering underneath the surface - just out of reach for Ivar and his greedy fingers.

“To me she was.”

“She treated you worse than anyone.”

"What?" He laughed but reined himself in quickly so that he wouldn't wake up Hvitserk or Ubbe. "Nonsense. Now you are making shit up to make me angry. She was wonderful to me."

"No, she really wasn't … listen … you should talk to Ubbe … or better … Bjorn."

"Bjorn? That fucking coward! I don't even know where he is! So come on now. Tell me. Stop being so cryptic."

"No … No, I really don't want to. Not tonight. Just … let it go for now." Ivar was not really the type of person who would _'just let it go’_ and Sigurd knew that. Especially not after what he had just said to him. “Please,” Sigurd then added and Ivar groaned before turning away from his big brother in his sleeping bag.

“Coward.”

**-End of Chapter 5-**


	6. Chapter 6

He was a young man. Not even thirty years old yet. And still, Heahmund Bishop could not deny that he had fought many battles in his life already. Battles against his strict parents, his cold father, against his condescending brothers, against his peers, against his teachers, against the expectations everyone seemed to have had for him, against the expectations _he_ had had for himself, against the path that had been planned out for him. He had won all those battles in the past. His most formidable foe, however, the one battle he seemed unable to win, was his constant fight against himself and the demons living inside of his heart. 

His demons had many names. Pride, desire, and lust - to name a few. Of the dark army living inside of him, those were the ones most familiar to him. They were old enemies that he never seemed able to get rid of. He knew, of course, that all men had to fight those same battles and that most men fought the same demons he was fighting day in and day out. During his education in Rome, he had been certain that especially men of the cloth were fighting those same battles and that he could learn from them how to come out victorious in the end. With great disappointment, however, he had learned the truth. Those men … they were just better at hiding their misdeeds than most people.

He had been abhorred when he had first realized all of that. In a way, he had always known, of course. He had heard the stories, after all, seen it on the news, heard rumors. And yet he had been so steadfast in his beliefs that he had been ignorant to the warning signs, ignorant even to the truth. And when the truth, as it was so often the case, had finally sunk its teeth into him and forced him to acknowledge it, he had sworn to himself that he would be different. He had made a vow, after all, and he did not intend to break it. 

That was, however, before he had met Ivar Lothbrok.

It was like it was in those horrible novels - as if being struck by lightning. He had been proud of always having the upper hand over his own demons for the longest time. He had been resilient and strong and then Ivar had waltzed into his life with his cocky grin and his sharp tongue and Heahmund had been left unable to think of anything else but this young man. It was true. Ivar filled his thoughts day in and day out ever since he had first walked into Heahmund’s church like the place belonged to him. 

Ivar’s first week had gone by in the blink of an eye and, naturally, Heahmund had been quite surprised when he had seen him that first Sunday during the mess, sitting in the first row, his crutches leaning against the bench and his eyes never leaving Heahmund all throughout it like searchlights.

Ivar’s second week had gone by much like his first although he couldn't help but see that something was bothering the young man greatly. He tried asking him about it but there was not much Ivar would tell him about it. Their conversations were nonetheless pleasant. Ivar was quite charming even as he tried not to be. No. In fact, he was even more charming when he tried not to be. It was this boyish kind of charm that not many people possessed, a charm that Ivar was not even aware of yet and that would soon become his greatest weapon the moment he would understand how to wield it.

This, his desire to spend more time with Ivar, his desire to talk to him and be close to him, his desire to have those bright blue eyes trained only on him, was his greatest shame during those weeks in the summer of 2020. Ivar’s second week ended once more with him coming to Sunday service and pretending to be a good little Christian - as if he would actually be able to fool Heahmund.

Not a single day went by without Heahmund praying for forgiveness, without Heahmund praying for direction from God, praying to gain strength so that he would be able to withstand his desires. He had been here before. A long time ago. During his teenage years and his time at the seminary in Rome, he had not deemed it necessary to withstand. Now, however, things were different. 

“You seem distracted today, Priest,” Ivar teased as they sat together during their lunch break in the young man’s fourth week at the church. By now, Heahmund was not quite so sure anymore if Ivar wasn’t flirting with him on occasion. After first meeting him and getting to know this brat a little better, he hadn’t been sure about Ivar's intention and just chalked his way of talking up to him just being cheeky. Ever since he had been subjected to small-town gossiping, however, things were different. “Can I help you detangle your thoughts?”

“I was just wondering what petty crime you are going to confess to me today,” Heahmund chuckled.

“Now, now, Heahmund,” Ivar scolded with that lopsided grin he so often wore on his face. “Where would be the fun in ruining the surprise early? In fact, I was not going to confess anything to you today. My conscience is clean - for now.”

“Ah,” Heahmund huffed. His hand, however, acted on it's own as he reached over and ruffled Ivar’s hair only to find it softer than he would have ever expected it to feel under the tips of his fingers. Quickly, as if burned, he pulled his hand back again. Ivar barely reacted to it as he just brushed a hand over his hair to fix the mess that Heahmund had made of his man bun. “I must say,” He then quickly directed his attention back at the scenery that was surrounding them. “You did marvelous work. Our gardener will be impressed when he returns to work in a couple of weeks. You have a hand for stuff like this it seems. I’m sure he would love to employ you as his apprentice.”

He caught how the tips of Ivar’s ears turned pink at the praise. He had noticed it in the beginning and made a point of peppering in compliments or praises whenever it seemed appropriate just to see that reaction. Not for the first time Heahmund had the distinct feeling that Ivar was the type of young man who did not often receive praise growing up and was uncomfortable now with all kinds of compliments because he didn't know how to handle them. He wasn't talking much about his home life or his past but the things Heahmund had heard from other people sufficed to paint a vivid picture for the young priest. Perhaps those stories were only more reason why he felt such affection for the kid. 

“I’m not done yet,” Ivar replied with a shrug and gestures very broadly towards his work. He could not quite hide his pride, however. It was very likely that it was the first time that this young man had created something with his own two hands like this. “Besides … I will go to university after I’m done with school. I want to go to Oslo and then … I don't know, maybe England?”

“What are you going to study?” His heart ached a little as he heard about Ivar’s plans. Plans that did not involve Heahmund.

“I don't know,” Ivar laughed. “I have no fucking idea! Something useful, hopefully! Something to make tons of money!”

“Money is nice,” Heahmund sighed. “But it's not everything.”

“Easy for you to say,” He huffed, and then, as he looked away from Heahmund, his eyes focusing on nothing in that thousand-yard-stare he would often get, his face became a little more serious. “I mean … I want to make enough money so that I can give something back to Ubbe, you know? He dreams of having his own farm one day and not just work for someone else. I want to buy him land and a farm and kettle and … whatever he wants, really. He deserves to live without having to worry about money. Especially after…” He trailed off for a second.

Heahmund gently nudged his leg. “After what?”

Ivar let out a deep sigh and for a moment he was certain the boy would build his walls back up again to escape answering a little longer. “It's not like we are … well … poor or something,” He then said. “Half this town belongs to my family. To my father, to be more precise. When the old man bites the bucket, we will probably get a crap ton of money - that is if he remembers that he has more than one son, of course. Bjorn … He … He worked with our dad until our dad just left. After that, Bjorn took over most of the businesses in Kattegat. When he left too he…” Again, Ivar paused before he brushed a hand through his hair and messed it up himself then. “He’s an asshole,” Ivar then concluded with a scowl on his face and his lips curling in disgust. “He just left. He didn't care. He fucked off and left Ubbe in charge without caring about Ubbe’s dreams or future. He could have at least … I don't know … transferred one of the smaller businesses to him. I hope he never returns.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Six years,” The answer came out so quickly that it told Heahmund quite clearly how hurt Ivar was, how angry he was, how often he thought about his big brother.

“And it's better like this. We never got along anyway. We are better off without him for sure and one day I can prove to him that I didn't need him or dad.”

He wanted to reach out to him, perhaps put a comforting hand on Ivar’s shoulder or say something uplifting but everything inside of him told him that it would be the wrong move to make. Ivar was, oddly enough, a very vulnerable young man. Behind all his bravado, behind his cheeky smiles, his sharp tongue, and his quick wit, he had a big heart - one that he guarded with thorns and barbed wire behind thick walls. He wondered if Ivar’s brothers were even aware of that.

“In that case,” Heahmund said. “I will pray for your success.”

※※※※※※※

Ivar was beautiful. Gorgeous. There was just no way around it. Heahmund could barely take his eyes away from the young man as he was working outside in the sun. From the window in the vestry, he could see him work in the garden. From afar he couldn't quite tell if Ivar’s hair was just very dark blonde or if it was light brown. Not that it mattered. His eyes were more important anyway, he thought. Those eyes that were like lightning trapped in a bottle, like the churning sea that was crashing against the cliffs of Kattegat. More often than not since he had first met Ivar, he wished that he would be able to talk to someone about his improper thoughts. 

As if it wasn't bad enough already that Ivar was a man! He also was a _teenager_! He was eight years younger than Heahmund. The thoughts that he had were in every single possible way absolutely rotten and there was no way around it. Every day in which he would find himself staring at the teenager he would feel guilty. His shame seemed to have been written all across his face no matter what he was doing and yet, he was proud of himself for not giving in to temptation - not even in the confines of his own bedroom at night where only God would be able to judge him. It was true, however, that he dreamed about the young man - more often than not. Ivar was like a curse that had been put upon him by the Almighty himself to test him like he had tested Hiob and so many others before him. 

At night, in his bedroom, as the breeze from the churning sea would waft through the open window of his house and brush over the skin of his naked torso, however, it was often too easy for Heahmund to imagine it to be Ivar’s fingers that would caress his skin. And wasn’t that a fitting thought to have for a boy with eyes like a storm? 

It did not help his predicament one bit as he came face to face with the brother of the object of his unclean desire. Once a month a meeting for addicts was held in the community center and Heahmund had gladly taken over this duty when he had taken over from Father Michaels. In fact, ever since this had started, he had looked at it as a privilege. It was only a handful of people who would gather for these meetings, placing their chairs to form a small circle in the community center to listen to others talk about their struggles or talk about their own. He got to hear the stories of those brave people and perhaps guide them through their recovery or, at the very least give them hope or a brighter outlook on life through the love of God. There were more than enough people out there in the world that would sneer at people who came to these meetings so Heahmund made it a point to be welcoming and expect everyone with open arms.

However, back then, when he had taken over from Father Michaels, he had not known how his life would develop. Back then he had not known that Ivar Lothbrok would waltz into his life. Ivar’s big brother had the same eyes. Not by color, though. Hvitserk’s eyes were sea green and had the same haunted look that so often claimed Ivar’s bright blue eyes. Even when Ivar would smile and make jokes he could see it lurking in the depths of his soul - that darkness within the young man. Hvitserk seemed a victim of that same shadow grabbing for him and trying to rip him apart a piece at a time. Evidently, it had succeeded at one point in Hvitserk’s life. Otherwise, he would probably not be here now. 

To Heahmund, it was always interesting to hear the stories of the people coming to these meetings. He could learn a lot from them and so he was naturally very curious that night to hear the story of Hvitserk Lothbrok. At the same time, however, he did not want to look like he was prying because Hvitserk was Ivar’s brother.

“I believe we have a newcomer in our little circle of friends,” Heahmund addressed the older brother of Ivar after a while. Hvitserk had that same look on his face that Heahmund remembered from his days in school. There was always this one kid in class that dreaded to be called up by the teacher and Hvitserk now had that same look as he looked at Heahmund as if pulled from a slumber. The meeting was almost over and he had waited until now deliberately so that Hvitserk would be able to opt-out speaking without it being too awkward for too long. He knew how hard it was for some people to open up during their first meeting. However, in a small town such as Kattegat, it seemed impossible that the people inside this room wouldn't already know everything there was to know about Hvitserk and his journey. “Hvitserk … Would you like to share?”

There was a brief moment, as their eyes met across the room, where Heahmund could see the same mischievous spark in Hvitserk’s gaze that so often seemed to take hold of his baby brother. Then, Hvitserk looked down at his feet again for a second, his shoulders hunched. He was a man full of regrets - that much Heahmund could easily tell already.

“I am nine months sober,” Hvitserk said after a moment of silent contemplation. “If my sobriety would be a fetus, it would be fully grown and ready to hatch now,” He then added with a little chuckle and some of the others around him joined - appreciating the joke and encouraging his bravery to actually speak. He seemed at a loss for what to say next, though.

“What made you become sober?” He asked calmly, gently nudging Hvitserk into a new direction. He got the feeling that, unlike his baby brother, Hvitserk was not all that comfortable talking to or rather in front of a bunch of people. However, Hvitserk was not shy either, as it seemed. 

“Well,” Hvitserk sighed and leaned back in his chair, his hands leisurely clasping a plastic cup of coffee in his lap, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Heahmund could see the shadows under his eyes now more clearly. He couldn't help but wonder why, if Hvitserk was nine months sober, he came only now to one of these meetings. Perhaps the reason for this decision lay in the dark circles underneath his eyes. “I almost killed myself and my baby brother,” He then said and by the looks on the other people's faces, most of them had heard the story already. 

“I … Uhm … it was around Halloween and I had to pick my brother up from some event his school threw in the mountains. I don't remember what it was though - memory is a bit hazy, you know? I was high most of the time back then - I hid it well, though - otherwise I would have been kicked out of the apartment I had been living in at the time,” He chuckled but it was lacking in humor as his eyes darted across the room only to return to the coffee cup between his legs. “I knew I was way too high to drive that night but I wanted to prove myself to my older brother and show him that I had changed - which, obviously was a big fat ugly lie, right? I got into that car knowing full well that I would be playing Russian roulette with my own life and with my brother’s life. It didn't register, though - not quite. Nothing seemed … real.” He earned himself a few agreeing nods from some of the others. 

“So I got in my car and I drove all the way out into the mountains without any accident. I felt good about myself. In fact, I felt invincible. Once more I had been proven right to not give a crap about what other people would say or about their warnings…” He trailed off at that, the ghost of a smile on his face as the memories were undoubtedly flooding his brain. “My brother was miserable that night - that was why I had to get him in the first place. He didn't have an easy time at his school - still doesn't. I wanted to cheer him up. So, I drove extra recklessly on our way back home. I pulled over at a Mcdrive and got us something to eat and drink. I don't really remember much after that, to be honest.” 

For a moment Hvitserk stared ahead with unseeing eyes before he gathered his thoughts with another small shrug. Heahmund, however, could not help but think about the night of the accident that Hvitserk was describing. He thanked the Lord that Ivar was still alive.

“I remember waking up at the hospital. I must have lost control over the car and crashed it. Apparently, it overturned a few times and came to a stop on its roof. I got out of it with minor injuries, by some miracle, but my baby brother almost died. That was what did the trick, I guess. Well, that and going to jail for two months. Jail wasn’t so bad, though. The worst part about the last nine months or so was the way my other two brothers would look at me all the time. My big brother didn't talk to me for three months - didn't even visit me in jail. Ivar did, though.” There was this smile on Hvitserk’s face again - a little more heartfelt this time. “When I got out I was homeless and without a job. So I asked my big brother to stay with him and he told me no. That was honestly the best thing that could have happened to me. I don't think I would have remained sober if Ubbe would have allowed me back into his home - the guilt would have probably eaten me alive and then I would have been bound to do something stupid again. I had to get my act together on my own. And I did.” 

It was the first time that there was a sense of pride washing over Hvitserk’s face - even if just for a second. “And when my other little brother moved out to go to college, Ubbe allowed me to move back in - but he told me quite clearly that he would cut ties with me forever if I would dare to mess up again. He didn't even need to tell me that. If this accident wouldn't have happened … who knows … I might be dead now from an overdose or something. I am thankful for that night … it sucks though that my little brother had to almost die just so that I would get my shit sorted out.”

One of the older women reached out a hand to Hvitserk and patted his shoulder with a smile. “You still have your little brother, though,” She said. “And you have to praise the Lord every day for it. He gave you a second chance.”

Hvitserk nodded with a tight-lipped smile. It reminded him of the way Ivar would react whenever he would say something similar to him. The Lothbroks were not exactly huge fans of the Almighty, as it seemed. He couldn't quite blame them after the things they had been through.

As the meeting ended some of the people remained and talked for a little while. Heahmund found Hvitserk standing outside in front of the door of the community service in the warm summer night, smoking a cigarette. He turned his head to look at Heahmund as he heard him approach and nodded in acknowledgment. 

“That was very brave of you today,” Heahmund said quietly as he stepped into the pleasantly warm night. The moon was glistening beautifully on the sea and a gentle breeze swept over them. “Not everyone would have chosen to talk so openly.”

“I don't really have that much to hide,” Hvitserk laughed mirthlessly. “The whole of Kattegat knows the story - at least they think they do. This entire town thinks they know our story in detail. There is no escaping the judgment of a small town.”

Heahmund laughed at that. “Your brother said something similar once.”

“Mhm … He’s a smart ass,” Hvitserk huffed. “He got that from our dad.” 

“That he is,” He couldn't quite help the grin that was pulling at his lips. They fell into a moment of companionable silence before Heahmund noticed a figure in a wheelchair heading towards the community center. “I believe your ride is here,” He said pointing towards the approaching teenager and Hvitserk barked out a laugh before throwing his finished cigarette to the ground and stomping on it with his sneakers.

“See ya next time,” Hvitserk all but promised and took a step in the direction of his little brother. Just as Heahmund wanted to go back inside, he saw how Hvitserk paused and looked back over his shoulder only to tell him, with a shit-eating grin that was a match to that of his baby brother: “He thinks you’re hot, by the way. But if you touch him, I have to kill you. I don't make the rules.”

※※※※※※※

He would lie if he would say that he would not still hear Hvitserk’s voice in his head even days later. It was childish, of course. He was a grown-ass man, after all and he still felt like a stupid teenager who had just learned that their crush was reciprocating their feelings. Ever since the meeting on Friday, Hvitserk’s words were circulating in his head. With a groan, he straightened himself and tried to shake off the other man’s words. So what Ivar thought he was hot? It wasn't like Heahmund could ever act on it and make a move on Ivar after all. It wouldn't be right - in more ways than just one. The boy trusted him. He seemed to consider him some kind of friend and as far as Heahmund could tell, Ivar didn't really have any friends at all. It would be cruel to do anything that might just jeopardize this - not to mention that he held a certain power over Ivar. It was wrong. Even considering all of that was plain wrong. 

He rolled his shoulders back and straightened his spine. Enough of that. This was getting ridiculous.

As he walked outside into the warm sunshine for lunch break with two cups of steaming hot coffee in his hands, he spotted Ivar lounging comfortably in the grass - sunbathing if he wouldn't know any better. So far Ivar had done his work diligently which was why Heahmund just laughed at the sight instead of scolding the boy for being lazy.

“I think,” Ivar said without looking at him, undoubtedly he had heard his steps on the gravel stone path. “It should be considered a humanitarian crime to have me work through my summer break. I should be at the beach now lying in the sun getting toasty! We don't get much sun here, after all. We need to soak up every bit of delicious UV-rays we can get our hands on before summer ends and winter returns.”

“You can always hand in a formal complaint to the judge,” Heahmund suggested with a smirk. “I am sure she would love to read what you have to say. Maybe sprinkle in a little child abuse for flavor. You could tell her I make you spend your entire day in this cold dark church cleaning the floor with your tongue.”

“See? That's why I like talking to you. I have not even considered this angle yet,” Ivar laughed. Heahmund was now close enough to nudge him with his foot before he sat down in the grass as well. Usually, he was more careful with his clothes - then again what harm could a little grass do to his black jeans anyway? Ivar had a bit of dirt on his left cheek as he sat up but he didn't seem to care - or he hadn't noticed. With a smirk, and without thinking about it, Heahmund reached over to rub his thumb over the spot. He was amazed to see how round Ivar’s eyes always became when he was startled or surprised by anything he did. To play down his surprise, Ivar quickly grabbed one of the coffees that Heahmund had brought outside and then pointed with the hand that was holding the cup at the cast iron gate of the garden. “I think an archway would be really nice there. With roses, maybe - and ivy. Brides could take pictures in front of it with their grooms.”

“Mhm…” Heahmund hummed in agreement. “You are right. Care to join me later for a run to the gardening center?”

“Really?” He seemed almost a little shocked that Heahmund not only considered his idea but was willing to go through with it right away. “Don't you want to consult with your gardener first?”

“I believe you have shown that you have a certain eye for stuff like that,” Heahmund huffed and looked at the flower beds. “I mean you don't really think that I wouldn't have noticed that you didn't stick to the plan while planting these, right?”

“Well … I just thought…”

“I think it looks gorgeous this way.” It didn't escape him how Ivar’s cheeks turned pink. “Not that I wouldn't have liked the original concept but now seeing your idea, the other one seemed too … strict, too clean - too _English_ perhaps. There is a certain raw beauty to these lands and an English garden in the midst of it would have seemed out of place. What you have done here is much more befitting. It has character.”

“My art teacher always said my work has _character_ when she didn't like my paintings,” Ivar grinned.

“Well, I do like your work and I think your paintings were probably very good too.”

“No, they were garbage,” Ivar laughed. “I can't draw for the life of me. Art class ended mostly with me covered in paint.”

“I would have loved to see that,” Heahmund huffed.

“Well, Ubbe didn't like to see it,” Ivar laughed. “He always threw a hissy fit when I came home like that.”

“I can imagine,” He said. By now, after the stories, Ivar had already told him and after what he had heard out of Hvitserk’s mouth, Heahmund had a very vivid picture of Ivar’s life and his brothers - especially this Ubbe-person. The mother hen of this gaggle of brothers. He had heard of stories where one sibling took over the parental role for their younger siblings. It happened naturally in times of crisis, in abusive households, after trauma, after a catastrophe. Something told Heahmund that Ubbe had taken over this role long before the death of their mother but Ivar spoke very little of his mother or his childhood. 

“Your brother Hvitserk,” Heahmund then said as he gulped down his coffee. He noticed how Ivar stiffened slightly beside him only to play down his own reaction quickly with a faint smirk. Not for the first time, Heahmund wondered what was going on inside Ivar’s head. “He told me you think I’m hot.” He couldn't help the teasing remark and the way Ivar laughed at that was definitely worth it.

※※※※※※※

A storm had been brewing over the ocean the entire day and as night finally fell, the storm hit Kattegat with vigor. Huge waves kept crashing against the cliffs and tossing the boats in the harbor around like little toys in a bathtub. The sky had the color of steel as the sun had not yet set on the horizon. 

It was quite the sight to behold for Heahmund while most people hurried down the streets to get home before the brunt of the storm would hit the town and rain would transform these unassuming streets into rivers. Heahmund had always enjoyed thunderstorms like this one - especially during the summer months. It had something purifying when the thunder would crash in the sky and the rain would wash through the streets to leave the air clean and crisp again in the aftermath. 

For days now the sweltering humid heat had been weighing down on people, making them grouchy and unpleasant. The storm was like a blessing as he stood in the doors of the church watching it all unfold. 

It was Saturday and he always stayed longer on Saturdays after the evening mess to clean up and spend a little time by himself inside the church. Usually, he would kneel in front of the altar for a while, lost in his prayers but tonight he felt antsy, unable to sit down and focus. Maybe this storm would free him from his restlessness as well. Then again, he knew what was responsible for his current turmoil. His problem had a name. Tomorrow morning during Sunday mess his problem would sit in the front row of the pews once more to stare at him out of those intense blue eyes, challenging him to forget his sermon and perhaps even stutter a little while reading it. Once or twice Ivar had almost gotten him to that point so far - his wicked grin all he had been able to focus on, his lips parted just the right amount to be suggestive. 

Maybe it was the celibacy that made his libido go haywire like this. He couldn't remember ever having felt such intense emotion before for another person. Sure, he had met attractive men, slept with attractive men - but he had never felt like he did when staring at Ivar. The worst about all of this was that Ivar seemed to know that. He was playing with him like a cat was playing with a mouse. Well, two could play that game. Heahmund, Ivar would soon know this too, was no mouse. And Ivar was not the only cat around here.

He stepped out into the rain. The cold water was like the much-needed punch in the face as it hit him. What awful thoughts had claimed his mind just now! He should set boundaries and not entertain the thought of joining Ivar’s little game. He needed to be firm with that lost lamb. Ivar needed guidance. He could tell. And, instead of offering him guidance, he was amused by his blasphemous quips and his attempts of flirting with him. He encouraged Ivar’s bad behavior instead of reprimanding it. This community service was meant as a punishment yet Ivar came here every day with a grin on his face - and that was Heahmund’s fault. He had failed this young man.

Only a couple of seconds outside in the rain sufficed to soak him so he went back inside where it was cold. Good. He deserved to feel cold and uncomfortable for the thoughts that he was having. Only last night he had once again dreamed of Ivar in his bed, writhing underneath him in sweat-soaked sheets. He was a sinner and he needed to pray to God to find forgiveness. So, with wide steps, Heahmund walked down the nave and towards the altar where he laid down on his stomach on the cold hard ground, his arms outstretched to each side, and began praying. 

As he muttered his prayers in Latin, the same prayers he had said so often in the past that now little thought went into them, he remembered his father and the belt he had liked to use on him. His father had seen his rotten core from the beginning but all the beatings he had received had not helped to steer him in the right direction after all. His father had been proud when Heahmund had left home for the seminar. He had been certain that his youngest son had finally found the right path and was adamant to follow it. And yet once again he was starting to stagger and stumble as he had as a teenager. His entire life he had dedicated to Christ - even as a child and acting as an altar boy every Sunday. He had devoted his soul to Christ, relishing in his warmth and love while being deathly afraid of his own black heart. And now here he was again. Nothing had changed for him and God still refused to grant him an answer no matter how often he asked. 

To Ivar, this was all just fun and games. He was young. But to Heahmund it was so much more. This was his life and all it took to send it all spiraling out of control was for Ivar to march into it without a care in the world. And yet it was also true that Heahmund had never met a young man who had such a big heart. A young man who wanted to buy his brother a farm, a young man who was worried for his addict brother.

Maybe God had sent him Ivar as an answer to his questions. After all, the Lord worked in mysterious ways. 

Thunder crashed loudly outside of the church and doors slammed shut loudly. Heahmund was startled out of his thoughts and all but jumped up, suddenly aware that he was no longer alone. And there, at the doors stood a figure, hunched over on a pair of crutches.

“Ivar!” He breathed out in surprise. “Is everything alright?”

He was quickly making his way towards Ivar just as Ivar slowly walked into the church. He was soaked to the bones, his hair hanging in his face where they had slipped free from his bun in the back of his head, water glistening on his face in the dim light of the candles, his grey t-shirt clinging to his chest. He would have gotten distracted by that sight too if it had not been for the look on Ivar’s face. His eyes were like dark waters, his expression haunted.

He didn't speak so Heahmund quickly led him to the closest bench and sat down with him. He took Ivar’s hands in his the moment they were sitting on the bench. Ivar’s fingers were cold as ice, his lips were trembling as their eyes met. There was a second there where Heahmund was almost certain that Ivar would kiss him. The next words the young man said, however, knocked him right off his seat.

“I killed someone.”

**-End of Chapter 6-**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't be confused by this chapter. The first scene of this chapter plays out the day before the last chapter ended. The rest of the chapter takes place the same day (Saturday) that the last chapter ended. The next chapter will pick up right where this one ended <3

The old man was staring at his work with furrowed brows as Ivar sat in the shade of the church in his wheelchair and waited for the certainly scathing criticism to rain down on him. Kattegat was a small town in which absolutely everybody knew everybody. So, even though it had come unexpected that the gardener would visit his place of work during his sick leave, Ivar was not really all that surprised. In fact, he would have expected the man to show up sooner after hearing that some rebellious teenager - namely Ivar Lothbrok - was meddling with his work and, more importantly, his concept for the church garden. 

The sunlight was reflecting brilliantly from his bald head as drops of sweat slowly ran down his temple. The sweltering heat of the past week that would certainly soon accumulate in a heavy thunderstorm was taking its toll on everyone in Kattegat.

Heahmund was standing at the man’s side, showing him around the garden as the poor guy was visibly struggling to keep upright on his crutches. Ivar was almost pressed to ask him if he wanted to swap with him but the truth was that even he was weighed down so much by the heat that even the thought of having to balance himself on crutches now seemed daunting. Not to mention that he was in the middle of working on the cast-iron archway that he had bought only a couple of days ago with Heahmund to place in front of the gate and for that he needed both of his hands free.

“It is not what I would have done,” the man said as Heahmund and he returned to where Ivar was sitting. The man’s shirt was almost soaking wet from sweat and Ivar wondered what Heahmund must feel like being stuck in his all-black uniform and the tight white collar around his neck. He was certainly miserable and yet, he looked as if he was completely unfazed by it all. His hair remained immaculate - not a strand out of place - and not a single drop of sweat seemed to be running down his face. Ivar himself just wanted to drown himself in the cold harbor water. “But it is nice work.”

He blinked in surprise up at Heahmund who seemed quite proud of the compliment for someone who had not done the work that was being complimented. Before Ivar could even try to come up with a response, the priest had already opened his mouth to speak. “Ivar is a hard worker,” He said. “He worked very passionately on this garden. He even came up with the idea of installing this archway. As you can see, he is idly working on making it a reality.”

“Well, it almost appears as if there won’t be a need for my return, Father!” Ivar was unsure what to make of the man’s tone of voice. He sounded indignant - but that could only be for show, judging by the slight twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” Heahmund laughed. “But it is true that Ivar could not have appeared at a more opportune time. I feared that he would prove to be in need of much more help from you and even considered asking you to sit by and instruct him what to do. But, as you can see, he picked it up very quickly.”

The man nodded again and looked at Ivar for the first time. Until now, he had directed his full attention only at Heahmund, pretending as if Ivar was not present at all. He was one of those people who would usually not even give him the time of day, one of the people who would talk about him behind his back - one of those people who had known his father and speculated about Ivar’s parentage openly. Now, however, Ivar could not quite read the look in his eyes. To think that this man would change his mind about him so quickly and easily would be naive but perhaps, at the very least, he was now considering Ivar to be worthy of common decency. To him, it didn't really matter. Heahmund’s praise seemed much more important. 

“You look like you’ve been struck by lightning,” Heahmund teased him later as they sat on a bench with two cups of iced-coffee in their hands that Heahmund had grabbed from the café by the harbor. It was a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Heahmund had called him away from his work earlier than usual to sit down with him once more. During their lunch break, they hadn't gotten much time to talk as Mr. Marteinn had lingered for a little while to talk to the priest. In a couple of minutes, his time for the day was up and he almost expected Hvitserk to come and pick him up again. It had become a habit of his brother and Ivar was looking forward to having his brother shove his wheelchair up the hill instead of doing the tedious work himself. 

He felt his ears turn pink at the teasing remark. “It's the first time anyone has ever complimented me for my work,” He explained with a small shrug of his left shoulder. “It came unexpectedly. That's all. And, to be honest, I thought Mr. Marteinn would throw a hissy-fit because I ruined his design.”

“You ruined nothing,” Heahmund said. “You made it better. You took what he came up with and elevated it. His was a rather safe design for a church garden - nothing spectacular, something that would be expected, something no one could be affronted by. You just took it in a different direction and I think it is much more beautiful this way, much more special. The composition of the colors and the different flowers works much better now that it is less clean. And why would I not compliment good work? Why would I brush it off as if it means nothing?”

“It's just flowers…”

“No,” Heahmund said, shaking his head before he pointed his cup at the flower beds. “This is a testament of your willingness to change, of your willingness to improve and follow the right path, of your willingness to work hard on yourself and the things in life you want to achieve. Sometimes we go through life without thinking about the things we want to do or achieve because we never found something we were good at or because, whenever we created something, instead of being complimented for it, we were shot down.” The way Heahmund stared ahead told Ivar that he had experience with that too. A part of him wanted to ask Heahmund about it, to learn more about his life so far. 

“It takes creating something with our own two hands to find out what kind of person we truly are. Creating something with our own two hands is something special - that feeling is something that can not be taught or be achieved artificially. I like to encourage that. Most people are afraid to try. Most people are afraid to start writing that book, painting that picture, building that piece of furniture that has been stuck in their mind. And why? Because every time they tried before or spoke about it, there was someone in their life who was telling them that they were not good enough or that they couldn't do it - that they didn't have it in themselves. I think that's wrong. We are all unique, all special in our own ways and we all have some talent within us that wants to be let out so that we can flourish.”

“And gardening is my secret talent?”

“Who knows?” Heahmund laughed. “Perhaps? At least now you know that you can do it and that you are good at it. The world is your oyster.”

“Sometimes it's hard to believe that you are only eight years older,” Ivar huffed. “You are so fucking corny, old man.”

“And still you think that I am hot.”

“Mhm…” Ivar hummed, refusing to allow his cheeks to turn pink. Ever since Heahmund had first told him about Hvitserk’s remark a week ago, he kept teasing him relentlessly. At first, he had been terribly embarrassed and afraid that Heahmund would make a big deal out of it. Other men would have certainly reacted differently to such a comment. Heahmund, however, had decided to tease him and it did not even feel awkward. “Less and less each day.” 

Perhaps, Ivar thought, maybe he would not be able to woo this man anytime soon but maybe at least he could keep Heahmund in his life as a friend. It wouldn't be good enough - not by a long shot - but he would rather keep Heahmund in his life as a friend than not having him at all.

“So,” Heahmund then chimed up and nudged the side of Ivar’s leg. They were sitting much closer together than usual, Ivar briefly noticed. “You have been awfully quiet this week in terms of confessions. Have you already run out of petty crimes to confess to me?”

Ivar laughed at that. “Hmm … Let's see. Did I tell you about the time I stole a whole bunch of cookies from the supermarket? Or the time I stole this mean old guy’s wallet that held nothing but a bunch of gift cards for weird old people stores and a bowling alley? Or the time I tried breaking into the community pool at night?”

“Yes,” Heahmund grinned. “All of that. You also told me about how you egged your neighbor’s house, vandalized your brother’s car, vandalized your school, and tried stealing a dog.”

“I didn't try to steal that dog!” Ivar let out in affront. “I tried to free it.”

“Ah,” Heahmund hummed. “Well, it seems you have run out of juice, huh?”

“Don't worry … I’m sure I have something for you by the end of next week.”

※※※※※※※ 

The day began bright and beautiful but with a certain heaviness to the humid, sweltering heat that seemed inescapable even in the early hours of the morning. A storm was brewing on the horizon. Ivar could tell. He had slept horribly last night, tossing and turning in the stuffy room. The fire. Again the fire. He was dreaming of it often lately and it was starting to take a toll on him. Maybe it was the heatwave causing those dreams. It was the only explanation his brothers seemed to have when he would complain about it to them. 

In the early morning hours when the heat was still kinda bearable, he helped Ubbe at his boss' booth on the farmer’s market like he would do every now and then when his brother needed a pair of extra hands. After a couple of hours of this, when Ubbe’s coworker came to take over, they picked up groceries together but the oppressing heat and the humidity of the air made him cranky and sweaty. Of course, his sour mood didn't go unnoticed by his big brother either. Well, Ivar was not the only one sweating buckets right now. Ubbe had very wisely chosen a black shirt so that the sweat would not be so visible on his clothes but his hair was ruffled and would not stay the way his brother tried to force it to be with tons of hair product. 

On their way home up the hill, Ubbe decided to address his crankiness. Cleverly, Ivar might add, because Ubbe had placed the grocery bags in Ivar’s lap so that he couldn't even run away from this conversation if he wanted to.

“So,” Ubbe started after a while. Suddenly, Ivar didn't feel so sorry anymore that his brother was pushing him up the hill. “What got your panties all up in a twist today?”

“Nothing,” Ivar groaned and Ubbe flicked the back of his head mercilessly even as if meant that he almost lost control over Ivar’s wheelchair. “I just … ugh … why are we never talking about mom?”

“What do you mean?” Ubbe huffed, almost sounding amused by the question. He hated it when his brother would be playing dumb. Yet, he could kind of understand his brother’s current confusion. After all, the question had come out of left field, all things considered. For weeks now Ivar was chewing on that very question but he had not asked it yet - not after their midsummer celebration. What was the point anyway? None of his brothers would tell him anything. They left him to stir in this uncertainty as if they derived some sick sense of pleasure from it. “What do you want to talk about?” His voice was softer now but Ivar did not buy this new gentle approach either. He knew his brother well, after all. He knew every color of Ubbe’s voice, every little change in intonation or cadence, and could label them with the exact emotion either felt or trying to portray. Right now, Ubbe was trying to placate him. Maybe that was worse than if his big brother would just be honest with him. 

“Well, you said that my memories of her were skewed,” Ivar shot back mercilessly, his own tone of voice sharp and not hiding the displeasure that he so deeply felt. “So what did you mean? What was she like?”

“You know what she was like,” His brother had the audacity to scoff and if Ivar would be able to see his face right now he was sure that Ubbe would be rolling his eyes. “You were seven when she died.”

“Well according to you, I didn't.” Ivar sighed. He felt exhausted already. Exhausted from this conversation. Exhausted from the heat. Exhausted from the secrecy his big brothers seemed so adamant to keep up only to leave him in the dark. “Come on. I mean … we don't even have any pictures left of her, after all. Just tell me what she was like! It's not fair that you guys apparently all have such vivid memories of her and I can hardly recall her face.”

Ubbe let out another deep sigh as if Ivar asked him to carry a boulder up the hill - always the exhausted parent. If Ubbe would die young, it would certainly be Ivar’s fault. “I don't know what to say, Ivar. She was our mom. End of the story.”

“Wow! Now I have a very vivid picture in my head! It's like she stands right in front of me!”

“Ivar, come on, don't be a bitch.”

“I was born to be a bitch,” Ivar huffed.

“I would agree with that. Ever since you were born you are a nuisance! I mean, you even took it upon yourself to be born at the most inopportune time for everyone involved.” Well, that story Ivar had heard often enough already. He did not need a rehash of the ruined theme park visit of the Lothbrok family because Ivar had been born two months early while his mother had been busy eating a caramel apple and watching her boys on the chairoplane. “Then again, you were actually kinda cute when you were so little. Alas, that was before you learned how to speak. It was only downhill from there.” He was surprised, as Ubbe finally gave in. “Mom was … difficult, Ivar. I don't know what else to say to you. She loved all of us, no questions asked and she was a very … loving mother.”

And yet there was clearly something that Ubbe was not telling him. He could hear it simmering underneath the surface again - like a tea kettle only seconds away from boiling. Of course, that made him only angrier but Ivar bit his tongue because he already knew that he would not get a satisfying answer from his big brother. Ubbe was nothing if not stubborn. That, they had all in common.

“I just wished,” Ivar said after a while in a much softer tone as a way of placating his brother. “You guys would talk about her more. I mean … I knew her the least of all of us. In my memories, she was always kind to me and gentle and attentive but the way you guys talk about her sometimes makes it sound like she was a bitch. And why did Dad leave her anyway? She was beautiful, wasn't she? Or was it because of me?”

“What?” Ubbe breathed, the ghost of horror or affront clinging to his voice. “Of course not! Of course, he didn't leave because of you! Never let anyone tell you that, okay? He didn't exactly explain himself to us, Ivar, but it was not because of you.”

“And how can you be so sure about that?”

“I just am, Ivar, okay?” Now Ubbe sounded pissed and Ivar knew not to keep stressing - even though nothing he said made any sense to Ivar. 

In his memories and in his dreams his mother was holding him in her arms, singing him a lullaby or reading him a bedtime story. He remembered her bright eyes and her big smiles, remembered her kissing and hugging him, treating him like he was the only thing of importance in her life. Not for the first time Ivar thought that perhaps that was the reason why his older brothers talked so little about her. Sigurd especially seemed jealous whenever Ivar had brought her up in the past. Yes, certainly that had to be it. They were jealous even now so many years after their mother’s death. Yet, Ivar knew that there was something else going on. Something his brothers wouldn't tell him and that bothered him to no end.

Maybe he would be able to bully Hvitserk into telling him something more. 

"Why are you so obsessed with mom anyway lately?"

"I am not obsessed! It's just … it's been ten years … I want to know my past. Is that really so much to ask? I think it's not fair that you guys know everything and leave me in the dark."

"Listen, I get it-"

"Do you? Do you get it, Ubbe?"

"We all process things differently. And we all grieve differently, Ivar. You have a right to be angry as we have a right to not wanting to talk about mom or the crap she put us through!"

"What do you even mean?"

"Enough of that. I'm not in the mood." Luckily for Ubbe, they were almost home so he could escape further questioning by his nuisance of a little brother. He would probably flee to the beach or to his latest fling or wherever as soon as the groceries were inside. 

“Can we go to the beach later?” Ivar then decided to change the subject. “As long as it's still nice out? Please?” This ‘please’ worked almost every time. He just had to play his little-brother-card right to get what he wanted even when Ubbe was pissed. It certainly came with its perks being the youngest sibling. Some would call him spoiled. 

“Ask Hvitty,” Ubbe then sighed. “I told Floki I would come over and help him with the engine of his boat. I could join you after.”

“Fine,” He sighed, giving up at last. “I’m going to ask Hvitty then.” Ubbe retaliated by ruffling his hair and messing up his man-bun.

Hvitserk was, as expected, way more receptive to Ivar’s suggestion to go spend the day at the beach before the storm could hit. When he and Ubbe came back with the groceries, Hvitserk had still been in his boxer shorts, his hair dripping wet, sitting on the kitchen counter, wolfing down a bowl of Ivar’s cereal with way too much milk. 

Twenty minutes later, the brothers had claimed a spot in the small cove a little farther away from the main beach of Kattegat and put their towels down in the sand. When the storm would hit, this cove would be completely underwater but until then it was like heaven on earth. Ivar had many fond memories of this place, of playing in the sand with his brothers, of his mother sitting under a parasol with her sunglasses on in a pretty polka-dot swimsuit, keeping her ever attentive eyes on them. He remembered building a sandcastle with Hvitserk. He remembered Ubbe teaching him how to swim - or at least trying to because their mother had always intervened, worried he might drown. Certainly, her worries had not been without foundation. There was a reason, after all, why Ivar couldn't swim even now as an almost-adult. Still, at least she had allowed him in the water in his tiny floating tire, with the floaties on his arms and always within Ubbe’s reach.

For Ivar, it was a little more troublesome to lower himself on his black towel but he had his brother’s helping hands to aid him even as he didn't ask for it. For Hvitserk it had become second nature. He was always in-tune with his baby brother’s needs it seemed. Much like Ubbe too. Ivar watched his brother a little envious, as he finally sat down on his towel, how Hvitserk stood there in the sun and quickly got out of his shirt and jeans. His brother didn't wait to apply sunscreen or sit down for a second before he was already off jumping into the water while Ivar remained where he was. He got his shirt off and, after a moment of hesitation, his shoes and jeans followed.

For a little while, Ivar watched his brother jump into the water and diving into the waves, jealous as he always was when he would be left out of the fun. Well, bathing in a stream was one thing but bathing in the ocean was a whole other can of worms. The undercurrent here was strong, the waves dangerous. Hvitserk did not take long to come back out, though. He shook his blonde hair out like a dog as he came jogging out of the sea, his teeth chattering and goosebumps spreading all over his lithe body like a second skin.

They were alone apart from a gaggle of girls sitting further away from them sunbathing. Ivar made a point of not looking in their direction at all after first taking note of them. It had taken him only that one quick gaze to recognize Freydis and her twin sister Katia with their friends. Of course, Hvitserk picked up on that the moment he returned to Ivar and sank onto his towel next to Ivar. His brother was much more perceptive than people would usually give him credit for. Perhaps that came with being the middle child - a playmate for the younger siblings, loyal support for the older siblings. Hvitserk always seemed to know when he needed to cheer up his siblings or even be the tough big brother.

“We can go somewhere else if you want to,” Hvitserk offered but Ivar quickly shook his head, laid down on his back, and then quickly turned on his front instead. That way he was tempted way less to look at the group. If they had noticed the Lothbrok brothers, they didn't show it. 

“I’m good,” Ivar sighed. “Could you just-” He motioned towards his back and Hvitserk laughed.

“You trust me with the sunscreen? I might draw a penis on your back.”

“So be it,” Ivar huffed with a fond roll of his eyes. It would certainly not be the first time. “It's not like anyone will know, right?”

“I’m sure your priest would love to see you naked,” Hvitserk laughed as he squirted some of the sun-screen onto Ivar’s back. As far as he could tell by the way Hvitserk drove his hands over his back, he was not drawing a penis on his skin. He had never been a huge fan of being in any state of undress in front of anyone - even his own brothers - but at least he could trust his brothers not to make fun of his legs. Not even Sigurd would go as far. Imagining now to be naked in front of someone like Heahmund made his stomach turn violently and filled him with dread. He thought about Freydis again, about her laughter. The first and last time that he had trusted anyone outside of his family in any way.

“Thanks by the way for telling him what I said,” Ivar groaned and reached over just enough to punch Hvitserk’s leg as his brother was kneeling beside him on his own towel. He still seemed to be freezing but the sun surely would take care of that soon enough.

“Anytime, little bro, anytime. What else are big brothers for, right?”

“My revenge will be gruesome,”

“I don't doubt it,” Hvitserk laughed and slumped back into his towel as he was done with his job of saving his little brother’s skin. They both knew Ubbe would kill him if Ivar would return with a sunburn. “You never talked about what happened with Freydis,” He then said.

“And I see no reason to change that now.”

“You could try opening up every once in a while, little brother,” Hvitserk sighed. “You are always acting as if you expect us to stab you in the back or use anything you tell us against you in court. I’m your big brother. It's my job to beat up the people who are mean to you. Although I must say you do a fine job of that yourself. And listen, I would also beat up a girl if she hurt you - I don’t discriminate, okay?”

“Wow,” Ivar scoffed. “A true hero of our time! Don't worry, I’ve got this. I can slay my own dragons.”

“I don't doubt that!" Hvitserk replied good-naturedly. "I’m just saying … I’m here okay? I know I have not been the best brother and the most present in your life but I’m still there for you if you need me.”

“You could tell me about mom then,” Ivar groaned, grasping the opportunity that had presented itself to him so openly. “If you really mean it.”

“Ubbe warned me that you might start nagging me about mom,” Hvitserk laughed quietly.

“I wouldn't need to nag anyone if you guys would just talk about her!” Ivar shot back and rolled onto his back again before sitting up in one swift motion. “I mean, Ubbe tells me my memories of her are skewed, Sigurd tells me to ask Bjorn about it! Everyone acts like she was an entirely different person from the one I knew!”

“Because you didn't really know her, Ivar,” Hvitserk groaned in annoyance as he sat up slowly as well. “Because it is true that you have a very skewed memory of her and how she was. In your memories, she is this loving woman who always carried you around and cuddled you and loved you but that’s simply not true, Ivar.”

“Then what is?” Ivar groaned. “Just tell me! What did she wrong that was so fucking bad that you guys all sweep it under the rug and refuse to talk about her, huh?”

“Let me think about it, wait, maybe it's the fact she almost killed all of us!”

“It was an accident and you know that! She fell asleep with a cigarette! She was a single mom of four boys and I was always sick! She was exhausted! You act as if she did it on purpose!” His voice had raised in pitch but he could barely hold back his growl. Hvitserk stared at him incredulously as if he could not quite believe Ivar’s words. Ivar’s blood was boiling and he could not quite contain the anger brewing inside of him even as he knew that he would regret his next words. “What’s next? Did she cause your fucking drug addiction as well? Did she cause you to almost kill me too? Or did she cause Bjorn to abandon us like garbage?”

“You don't know what you are talking about!” Hvitserk barked back at him. It was not often easy to rile his big brother up but once again Ivar had succeeded in that endeavor. 

“Then fucking tell me!”

“Mom never smoked, Ivar!” For a second it was as if the world had stopped turning in response to Hvitserk’s words. It took Ivar a moment or two to understand and grasp them. Of course, they were ludicrous! Insane!

“Are you high?” He asked even though he knew it was a low blow and the reaction on Hvitserk’s face was imminent. He could see his face twist into an ugly grimace as if Ivar had stabbed a knife into his stomach. He was a horrible person as he intended to twist the knife. “You are back on drugs, aren’t you? What did you take this time, huh? Heroin? Coke? Or are you just on weed?”

“Fuck you, Ivar!”

“No fuck you!” He shot back. “Because what you are saying makes no fucking sense and you know it! You are a pathetic liar, Hvitserk - like you always were!”

“Sure because you are the only one who knows the truth, isn't that right, Ivar? you know better than any of us! Perfect little Ivar. Mom didn't fucking love you, Ivar! She tried to kill you and you pretend like she was this angel! You don't believe anything anyone says about her because you are too desperate to cling to the thought that she was this pure, wonderful person because you are so fucking afraid that no one loved you except her!”

“Go to hell, Hvitserk!” He hissed and crawled down from his towel towards the shoreline. He couldn't swim but that didn't mean he wouldn't be able to at least sit in the shallow water. Right now he did not want to be anywhere near Hvitserk - even as it meant being out here in the open for Fredyis, Katia, and their friends. 

Right at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to talk to Heahmund. Somehow, Heahmund always seemed to make everything better. He had a way of listening to Ivar that made him feel heard and seen in a way that he had never experienced before. Even when he would outright criticize God and the church, Heahmund listened without judgment, a twinkle in his eyes. Then again, perhaps he was nothing more than an amusing little distraction for him.

He could hear his brother rustling with his clothes and then, shortly thereafter, leave but Ivar refused to turn around to watch him. 

Maybe he would apologize to Hvitserk later for what he said. Maybe not. With Hvitserk gone, however, that left him as the main attraction for the gaggle of girls nearby. He should better get going as well. Maybe he could go annoy Ubbe and Floki while they worked. Or perhaps he would visit Helga and leech something to eat from her. 

Before he could move, however, he heard someone coming towards him. The footsteps were light on the sand but his ears picked up on them anyway even over the churning of the sea. For a moment he was sure that it was Hvitserk who had come back but as he turned his head he could see Katia approaching him quietly, her dark hair swaying in the breeze, her eyes soft as she looked at him with a smile. She looked, by all means, stunning in her navy blue and rather revealing two-piece bathing suit. If he would care for her equipment he would have had a hard time keeping his cool at the sight. Instead, he thought about how Heahmund had smiled at him just yesterday, about his sparkling pale blue eyes, about the way he smelled - cedarwood and lemon, mixed with the smell that seemed to linger in churches and that Ivar could not describe (Maybe it was the smoke of all the candles or even the scent of the melting wax?). Somewhere behind her, Freydis and their friends were sticking their heads together and talking animatedly - and very clearly about him. He felt his skin crawl and panic rise and just wanted to leave again. Hvitserk was a fucking asshole for leaving him here so exposed. He might as well have thrown him to the wolves. 

“Hey … Ivar,” Katia had the audacity to smile even wider as she brushed a strand of her dark hair behind her left ear. Ivar, however, very deliberately turned his head to look at the water instead of her, or else his gaze might just fall onto her half-naked body, and surely that would be the ammunition Katia and the other girls were looking for. He ought to be careful. One wrong move and he would be headed for disaster yet again.

“Hey,” He replied in a clipped tone. To his surprise, Katia sat down next to him in the shallow water and one of the other girls let out a burst of cackling laughter - probably in response to something another girl had said. His neck felt like it was on fire at the scrutiny. Shame was creeping up on him and made him feel nauseous. He wanted to crawl deeper into the water and drown himself. It wouldn't take that much effort anyway and the longer he thought about it, the more appealing the idea became. Perhaps he could ask Katia to sit on his back so that he wouldn't be able to get up while he would drown in knee-high water.

“How are you doing?”

“What do you want?” She seemed taken aback by his aggressive tone but she recovered quickly from it.

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Since when are we on speaking terms?”

She allowed a sigh to slip out. “You make it difficult to be nice to you, you know?”

“I’m not asking anyone to be nice to me.”

“Yeah, no wonder you have no friends.” It stung. For a while, he had thought Freydis and Katia were his friends. How blissfully naive he had been back then. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” He scoffed. “Stabbing me in the back or humiliating me in front of the entire school?”

“Ivar…” She sounded exasperated. “That's not fair … It wasn't my fault … I was not the one who-”

“You still laughed though, didn't you?” Finally, he turned his head to send her a sharp glare. “You still laughed when Freydis showed this video around. Fuck you, Katia.”

“You are a disgusting prick, you know?” She hissed, her cheeks now pink - perhaps she was still a decent enough person to feel a sense of shame after all. Then again, a long time ago he had thought that both Katia and her sister were good people, that they were nice and kind. Kind enough to give a cripple like him the time of day. The greatest shame of his life was that he had allowed them to deceive him, that he had allowed his walls to be torn down by those girls and their friendliness towards him.

“My best regards to Oleg,” He spat. “I hope he enjoys his summer break with his jaw wired shut.”

She pinched her lips into a tight line, an ugly grimace for someone as beautiful as her, before she got back to her feet. “You know what? You fucking deserved what you got you ugly, crippled, faggot!”

He wasn’t surprised by her words but they hurt nonetheless. Ivar made it a point to direct his gaze at the sea in front of him instead of watching her stomp off in anger - even though the looks of the girls seemed to become only more scathing the longer he was sitting here and allowed them to scrutinize him. His gaze fell upon his own legs, a landscape of scars and bumps, of evidence of the many broken bones and surgeries he had suffered throughout the almost eighteen years he was on this planet now. He had broken his hip in the process of being born. That was not all that unusual people would tell him but his parents had certainly realized that their youngest child was far from being normal after the legs had been pulled out at last. 

Not for the first time, Ivar would have liked nothing more than putting a saw to them and cut it all off. For the longest time, he had gotten dressed not even looking at his legs, pulling his pants on underneath a blanket or in the dark. For the longest time he had hated the sight of his own body. Those legs, which seemed to belong to someone else and kept ruining his life. When people would see him sitting somewhere like a normal person they would be intrigued by his face and the strength of his upper body but Ivar always had it in the back of his mind that no one would ever be able to desire him when they would see his legs. Most people lost interest the moment they realized he was using a wheelchair or crutches all the time. It was an inconvenience for normal people. He got it. It was an ancient instinct that usually drove people to choose partners according to how healthy they appeared to be - their inner caveman taking over the wheel. In that regard, Ivar had little to offer. He was neither healthy nor was he looking forward to having a very long life.

After a while, he tore his gaze away from his malformed, thin, withered legs and dragged himself back to his towel, and quickly began redressing. The laughter of the girls just a couple of feet away seemed his constant companion as long as he would remain here. Katia was still sending him death-glares while the other girls ogled him with unbridled amusement as he finally packed up his shit and hoisted himself up on his crutches. It was quite the feat to walk through the sand on his crutches without the helping hands of his big brother and thus he stumbled a few times. At least it was not far to the boardwalk that connected the cove to the main beach and the harbor.

“Run, cripple!” He recognized Freydis’ voice immediately. Freydis, who he had once thought was interested in him. Freydis, his friend, who had preyed on his desire to be seen, to be loved, to be desired. Freydis, who had humiliated him in front of the entire school and who did not tire of humiliating him now. He wanted to let out all his anger on her, to lash out and release his fury but he knew better than to be goaded into a fight by her. He would not get himself thrown into juvie just because of this wretched woman. “Run!”

He had to focus on every step he took so that he would not fall and break something or become the subject of the girls’ further amusement. They would come down on him like vultures if he would slip and fall. None of them would show any kindness or mercy - not even Katia, not after how he had just treated her. Not that he would want that anyway. He didn't need friends. He didn't need those girls in his life. He didn't even need his brothers - especially not Hvitserk that fucking bastard.

As he managed to get away - his beach day now thoroughly ruined - he made his way towards the harbor. The Angrboda was not far but Ivar halted his approach as he saw Ubbe and Floki sitting on the bow of Floki’s boat. Either they had already finished their work or Ubbe had used Floki only as an excuse to get away from Ivar. Both men were sitting with a beer in their hands, their legs dangling through the railing and talking calmly amongst themselves. He felt like an intruder at the sight. He watched how Floki put a comforting hand on Ubbe’s shoulder and turned away from the scene before either one of them would be able to spot him lurking. Ubbe probably needed a shoulder to lean onto right now. The last thing he needed was his annoying little brother taking this little moment of peace from him again. He was not welcome here.

A part of him wanted to turn towards the church but he knew that this afternoon a wedding was scheduled so Heahmund was surely quite busy before the evening mess. Besides … it wasn't like they were truly friends, right? He could not go and bother Heahmund like this. Instead, he kept walking through Kattegat for hours, hanging after his thoughts and trying to make sense of the shit Hvitserk had said. For a moment he even pondered calling Sigurd and asking him about it but then he decided against it. Sigurd had other shit to do. He was living his own life now - far away from Ivar, far away from their traumatic fucking childhood. 

Had it been traumatic though? He had never thought of it in that way. Not before the death of their mother, at least. He didn't remember his father at all and although he hated the man and was angry at him for just abandoning them, he didn't feel particularly traumatized by him leaving.

Then again, people might suggest that he had abandonment issues - which was why he would lash out at Sigurd every chance he would get. Well, Ivar would be the last to argue with that. There might be a grain of truth to the argument, after all. Or, he thought bitterly, an entire fucking mountain. He didn't need a therapist to figure that shit out. He knew his own issues better than anyone else, after all. He knew that it was not normal to clamp up and stop speaking and retreating completely into one’s shell just because the older brother decided to go to university. He knew that it was not normal to feel like he was falling into the black abyss every time Ubbe wouldn't come home on time. He knew that it was not normal to start panicking when he would come home to an empty apartment, dashing into the kitchen, afraid to find a note that would tell him that Hvitserk and Ubbe had left him too. He knew all that but what was he supposed to do about it? No one had time to listen to poor little Ivar cry about shit like that. 

And if his brothers decided to abandon him too … so be it. Who needed them anyway?

It was around three in the afternoon and the church bells were ringing for a newly wedded couple when Ivar finally returned home. He all but expected to hear voices from the kitchen or living room again - Hvitserk and Ubbe talking about the incident at the beach or something. People always talked behind his back and thought that he wouldn't notice it. He was greeted with silence, though. And instead of being relieved that his brothers were not talking behind his back, he was filled with dread. What if they really had enough of him? What if they had left and wouldn't return? What if they had gone out without him because they couldn't stand him? Not for the first time, Ivar found himself wondering if Ubbe would kick him out as soon as he would turn eighteen in November - or perhaps when he had finished school next summer.

Well, who could blame him if he would do so?

“Ubbe?” He called out into the apartment, shoving his keys again in the pocket of his jeans as usual. “Hvitty?” Maybe he would be able to kiss up to Hvitserk when he would invite his big brother for ice-cream. Food and snacks usually worked wonders on Hvitserk’s mood.

The air outside was already heavy and thick with electricity. It was a matter of minutes now until the storm would hit. Perhaps they would be able to make a quick dash to the ice cream parlor down the road before the storm would hit. He didn't get a response, though. Slowly, he leaned his crutches against the small side table near the door of the apartment and made his way deeper into his home on unsteady feet, holding onto the walls for support as he did. Slow and steady. He would never be able to walk without aid but he enjoyed the little bit of freedom and the feeling of success whenever he made it through the apartment without help like this. 

Something was hanging in the air like a bad stench. His stomach was turning. It was his unreasonable panic, he told himself. It was his mind playing tricks on him like it always fucking did. Something wasn't right - he could feel it in the marrow of his bones. He shook off the thought. Hvitserk was probably taking a nap in their room, lounging on his bed like a cat. To get to their bedroom, he needed to walk past the bathroom and that was when it truly hit him. The smell of vomit lingering in the air. The door was ajar, the light on. Someone was inside but it was dead-silent. 

His heart was beating so heavily all of a sudden that its thumping was all that he could hear. 

He knew it, right then and there even before he pushed the door open all the way, that something bad was waiting for him on the other side. For a second, he contemplated walking away, leaving the apartment, acting as if he hadn't been here. He was afraid. And still, he pushed the door open. The smell was overwhelming and he lost his balance even before he found his big brother on the ground, hanging lifelessly over the toilet, with vomit clinging to his clothes and his skin, deathly pale. There was a syringe still lying on the tiles a couple of feet away, a tourniquet still wrapped around Hvitserk’s left arm. 

After that everything was a blur. He didn't think as he crawled over the ground to his brother and pushed him to lie on the tiles or when he felt for his pulse only to start CPR. He didn't think about any of what he did, not even about the taste of vomit on his own lips. He didn't hear how Ubbe returned home, he didn't hear how Ubbe called an ambulance or how the storm finally hit Kattegat in a deafening crescendo. For him, at that moment, time had lost all meaning and the world had stopped spinning. 

Even later as he sat in the waiting area of the hospital and allowed a nurse to clean him up, he didn't quite understand how he had gotten here or what had happened. Hadn't he been on the beach with his big brother just minutes ago? He remembered them lying in the sun and having a grand old time. Right?

“He is going to pull through,” someone said but Ivar didn't listen. His head hurt. Nothing made sense. The world was a maelstrom of smells and light and nothing made sense. He felt like vomiting but he was sure that he had already done so. He could still taste it on his tongue, after all. There was a hand on the small of his back, heavy and unbearably warm.

“Breathe,” Ubbe said calmly as he rubbed circles into his back. “Breathe, Ivar, it's all good. He’s going to pull through.” He was breathing though, wasn’t he? Sure he was! He could feel the oxygen burning his lungs! “Hey…” Ubbe said softly and suddenly he found himself wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, strong arms circling around him and holding him unbearably close. He was suffocating. “Hey … you’re shaking … it's all good now. He’s in good hands. Hm? He’s going to be okay, Ivar…”

Later - although he had no idea what later really meant in this case - he was lying in a bed covered in white sheets and a warm body was right next to him. Outside the world was dark and a storm was raging. He felt as if he had been asleep for a while even though he had only blinked, right? He had only blinked in-between Ubbe comforting him and him waking up here in this bed. Although _waking up_ seemed to be the wrong choice of phrase entirely. Ubbe was sitting in a chair, fast asleep, his head resting against the wall behind him, his mouth hanging open, his snores filling the room and giving Ivar a sense of comfort - something familiar to latch onto.

“They sedated you…” A raspy voice sounded next to him and as he looked up, he saw, in the twilight of the room, his big brother looking down on him. He looked horrible - pale, grey, and gaunt. It took Ivar to recognize his brother Hvitserk, to tie this sickly looking stranger to the happy-go-lucky image of his big brother in his mind. Hvitserk was always sunshine in his mind but now he was frighteningly unfamiliar to Ivar. Even in the dim light of the room, he looked ten years older. “You were hysterical … they had to give you something. I feel honored … you freaking out like this because of little old me…” 

He was searching for a clock before he found the generic alarm clock next to Hvitserk’s bed. He remembered returning home at three in the afternoon - the bells of the church had been ringing for the couple that Heahmund had wed today - and now it was seven PM. Four hours had been stolen from him in the blink of an eye. How the hell had that happened? 

“I feel like I was knocked out by a truck…” He finally managed to reply, his own voice hoarse, his throat scratchy. 

“Same, brother…” Hvitserk huffed but only then Ivar realized that Hvitserk had an arm around him as he was pulling him closer now. “I’m sorry for scaring you like this … Ubbe told me you found me…”

He was still groggy and woozy and couldn't quite understand what was going on at all. Why was he even here in the hospital in the first place? There was no escaping the memories of the last hours, no matter how much he wanted to pretend that it was a nightmare. The image of his big brother lying lifelessly on the tiles of their bathroom would forever be ingrained in his mind. He choked out a sob that he couldn't bite down on and Hvitserk quickly pulled him even closer.

“I’m sorry,” Ivar sobbed. “I’m sorry…” Surely, it was his fault what happened. Surely, if he hadn't fought with Hvitserk at the beach, they wouldn't be here right now. He should have seen it coming. Everyone he loved either died or abandoned him. “You did so well and I messed it all up…”

“It wasn’t your fault…” Hvitserk mumbled. He sounded weak and fatigued. “I was already struggling for a while … and then I met Erik in town and … it's not your fault, Nugget…” He wasn’t hearing his words anymore, though. He hadn't heard anything after the name Erik. There was only a ringing in his ears and his heart was racing in his chest like a sledgehammer going a million miles per hour. “Ivar?”

His body moved on autopilot as he sat up in Hvitserk’s bed. “I’m … I have to go home…”

“Ivar … no, come on, lay back down, you are not thinking straight.” Hvitserk was as weak as a kitten, unable to keep him from leaving, unable to even grasp him and hold him back by the scruff of his neck.

“I’m gonna get a taxi home … it's all fine. You need rest.” He found his crutches next to the bed. Had Ubbe brought them along? He hadn't even noticed. Then again … he had no clue how he had gotten to the hospital in the first place. Had Ubbe driven them in his old Honda? He imagined Ubbe racing down the road towards the hospital, following the ambulance. No. Ubbe would never race. Surely, Ubbe had driven calmly, his face a stoic mask, the radio playing some stupid rock song that was all the rage right now, his lips tightly pressed together, not allowing a single word to slip out. Even now he was floating, his body moving without his consent. Hvitserk wasn’t able to do anything about him getting up and grabbing his crutches and they both knew it. He couldn't even quite raise his voice just yet. “I promise, Hvitty … it's okay. Please just get rest…”

“Okay…” Hvitserk finally complied, by now he was slurring his words. He was blinking so slowly now that Ivar could tell that he was fighting the sleep that wanted to claim him anew. “But you go straight home … no detour. I mean it. Promise me you be good.”

“I promise…” Ivar muttered. He paused for a moment before he leaned down and kissed the side of his head. “I call Floki so he can babysit me.”

Hvitserk gave a weak chuckle but he was already drifting off to sleep again. For once, Ivar planned on doing what he was being told. He left the hospital on crutches, got into one of the waiting taxis in front of it, and got home. Luckily, he still had his wallet with him and the keys in his jeans pocket. He briefly remembered that he had planned on inviting Hvitserk to go get ice cream. 

Twenty minutes later he was home, sitting on his bed and staring at Hvitserk’s empty nest on the other side of the room. As per usual, Hvitserk’s bed was still unmade, the sheets ruffled like he had just gotten up to get something to drink and would return any second. His brother’s phone still lay there and gave an ominous ping as Ivar stared at it. 

He was up on his feet again, grabbing his crutches with shaking hands. He wanted to go to the church. Maybe Heahmund was still there. He needed to talk to Heahmund. He couldn't stay here in this empty, silent apartment. He needed to see Heahmund and talk to him and hear his voice. Heahmund would be able to make sense of the horrors that had happened in such a short amount of time. 

Just a few hours ago life had been good. Just a few hours ago he had been at the beach with his big brother and if he would have just kept his fucking mouth shut Hvitserk would not be in the hospital right now, Hvitserk would not have almost died. It was his fault and everyone knew that it was his fault but no one dared to say it. It was his fault that Ragnar had left too. It was his fault that his mom had been so exhausted that she had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette. He didn't care what Hvitserk said about it. Surely, he remembered it wrong. It was also his fault that Bjorn had left and that Sigurd had moved out. He couldn't blame them. He destroyed everything that he touched. How could anyone love him? How could he expect anyone to love him? Even Heahmund probably only pitied him or saw him as some sort of project from God.

Still, he was drawn towards him and his guidance. It was not the smartest move of him to go out into the storm but he didn't care about the rain slamming down on him, the wind ripping at his hair and his clothes, or the thunder rolling across the sky. It was completely dark despite the sun not having gone down yet. As he reached the church, there were people in front of it so he turned away and headed towards the harbor instead. 

It seemed like fate as he walked around the harbor on his crutches that he all but stumbled into a familiar figure. He had thought about searching for Erik and beating the shit out of him but he had known even at the hospital that the chances of finding him without going to his house had been slim to none. Now, however, God was sending him a sign. He saw the familiar red-ish hair of Erik Thorvaldsson in the distance as the young man stumbled out of the harbor pub on unsteady legs - drunk out of his mind and unaware of the man whom his drugs had almost killed today. Not that he would care about that.

There was no conscious decision as he started following Erik. He did not plan on actually confronting the man as he knew that he would have no chance against him and he was smarter than to look for a fight with a stronger, taller man. And yet, as he ended up at the church not too long after he had first left the apartment, his hands were covered in blood.

**-End of Chapter 7-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this chapter was 11 pages long, during the proof-reading process, it gained 5 more pages. Whoops. Anyway! I have a couple of thoughts. I decided quite early on in this story that Ivar's kind of coping mechanism is to remember things more pleasantly than they actually were as a sort of protection for his psyche. For example, his early childhood and time with his mom (which will be explored in more detail very soon) or even his beach day with Hvitserk when he sits in the hospital with Ubbe. However, I also think that now that he's all grown up, this defense mechanism doesn't work as well any more than it used to during his childhood - which is why he remembered how things with Hvitserk actually were that day. I hope that makes sense xD


	8. Chapter 8

“I kept following him,” Ivar said. His hands were still trembling as he recalled his tale and there was little Heahmund could do about it without outright grabbing the young man’s hands tighter, putting more pressure on those strong hands. He fought the urge to do so even as he felt Ivar’s trembling fingers in his own. “Of course, he noticed me soon enough. I didn't back down, though. I wanted to confront him. All I thought about was that this asshole almost killed my brother with his fucking drugs. I couldn't think straight…”

“Of course not,” Heahmund muttered quietly, his words like a secret whispered into the sanctity of the church. The way they sat together in the pews like this, their bodies slightly turned towards each other, with Heahmund holding onto Ivar’s hands for dear life and the boy stuttering his way through his confession he could not help but think of the young couple he had wed earlier in the day. “Who would have been able to do that?”

“When he noticed me, he started talking to me, asked me if I wanted to buy. I lost my shit. I just … jumped him, started beating him with my fucking crutch. He pushed me to the ground but he was drunk so it was easy to bring him down with me.” Ivar paused and drove a hand down his face, thus tearing his hand out of Heahmund’s hand. “After that it was easy … I kept punching him … I just … I couldn't stop myself … I didn't mean to … I don't know what got into me…”

“Are you sure he was dead when you left?” He kept his voice silent - just in case anyone might stumble upon this scene. 

“What do you mean? Of course, I am sure! I’m not stupid! He didn't move! He didn't … breathe! He was … dead! He was dead!” At last Ivar’s true age showed for this one short moment as he spat out these words with so much fear clinging to his voice and eyes. The fear of having killed someone, the fear of having ruined his life, the fear of going to jail at last. His own heart was beating hard against his ribcage. Ivar’s panic was contagious just like his smiles and laughter often were. He was a man of the extremes - of loud emotions. When he would laugh he would do it with his entire body, arms flailing, his head tilted back and when he was sad he would cave in on himself. Now that he was afraid, his entire body was lost in tremors, his eyes wild, his mouth twitching and agape. His emotions swept right through Heahmund. He urged himself to remain calm - for Ivar’s sake if nothing else.

“Can you show me the spot?” He asked calmly.

“I think so...”

“Come on, we are going to see for ourselves and then we will get him help if he has not been found yet.”

“I can't … I can't…”

He squeezed Ivar’s hand with both of his to ground the teenager in the moment. “Ivar, you made a _mistake_. You acted out of anger because your brother almost died. You still have a choice though. You can still choose to get this man help if he is alive and face the consequences of your actions or you can cower and let it weigh down on you for the rest of your life.” Heahmund could tell that Ivar already contemplated how bad the latter option could really be all things considered so he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I am not allowed to talk to the police about any of this, you know that, Ivar. I think, however, that you should go with me. I will be there with you all of the way. No harm will come to you, I promise.”

“I can't … I will be thrown into jail this time … I can't do that to Ubbe…” It broke his heart that this insolent brat’s first thought was not about himself but about his big brother. No matter what the people of Kattegat would say about Ivar when they thought that they could get away with it, Ivar’s words now showed what kind heart he really had, how sweet and honest his feelings were towards his siblings. Ivar had been announced to him as a lost cause, as a troublemaker who would land his ass in prison before he would turn twenty-one, and here he was now: honest, scared, a troublemaker through and through, a kid with so many issues it would take weeks to list them all but not at all the lost cause he had been advertised as. Not to Heahmund at least. 

“You will not be thrown into jail. Not if you show responsibility now and make it right.” Maybe this promise would not hold up in the long run - not if the guy was really dead - but if it would get Ivar to confront his deeds and maybe come out alright out of this situation, it was worth it. He expected resistance but Ivar surprised him as he nodded shakily, proving the trust he put into Heahmund. 

“Okay … okay … I’ll show you.”

It didn't take long for them to leave the church or for Heahmund to lock the doors at last. The trip down to the harbor was rough because of the storm. They made it to the spot soon and, sure enough, Erik was still lying on the wooden planks of the docks, rain was slamming down onto his face but he remained motionless. 

He left Ivar’s side quickly to rush to the man on the ground and, pressing his fingers into his neck, Heahmund could breathe a sigh of relief. “He’s alive!” He called out. In his panic, Ivar had probably just not found his pulse or even thought to search for it. Now, however, the boy sank down heavily onto a wooden barrel close by, just as Erik gave a pathetic groan, his eyelids fluttering. Heahmund quickly helped the man to get his bearings back as he actually came back from being knocked unconscious by Ivar - that knowledge would surely leave a bruise on the man’s ego. His face would have been covered in blood had it not been for the rain washing it all away. His nose, however, was clearly broken and he needed his head looked at. Other than this, however, he seemed more or less okay.

Erik was visibly confused as he came face to face with the priest but that did not keep Heahmund from confronting the man with questions immediately. “How are you feeling?” He asked and Erik looked at him as if he didn't understand Heahmund at first. “Do you know what happened to you?”

“A fight,” The man groaned. Erik was about to say something else, as his eyes started traveling around the dock. Heahmund could pinpoint the exact moment the man caught sight of Ivar sitting on that barrel and seemingly lost all ability to speak. Then something truly marvelous happened. Guilt and shame flashed over the face of the drug dealer. At first, Heahmund thought the man was ashamed because of his deed of selling drugs to a recovering addict but then it dawned in him that the man felt shame because he had been beaten up by a cripple.

"I must have tripped and fell," Erik then said as he slowly tried getting to his feet with Heahmunds help.

"You should go to the ER and get that headwound checked out my friend. I am going to call you a taxi," Heahmund smiled but Erik brushed him off right away. Apparently, he could not get away quickly enough from this situation. 

"I'm just gonna go back to the pub…” He stuttered. “Someone There can drive me…"

Before Heahmund could do anything or voice concerns, Erik was already stumbling off with one last look at Ivar. Heahmund breathed out a sigh of relief and then slowly walked over to where Ivar was still sitting on the barrel. All his fears and worries fell off of him in the blink of an eye and he was sure Ivar felt the same way. They were both completely soaked by now and he could see that Ivar was still shaking.

"Come on, we need to get dry and warm, I live close by. You can crush on my couch."

It happened too quickly for Heahmund to understand it at first; Ivar’s fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, pulled him down to his level and captured his lips. If there was one thing in his life that Heahmund would have never expected it would have been being kissed in the middle of a thunderstorm, out in the open, after just receiving a murder confession that then turned out to not even be a murder. And yet, even as everything inside of him screamed to take a step back and put an end to this, instead of pulling away, he pulled Ivar closer by the neck and deepened the kiss, all logic and self-control suddenly shot out of the window.

For a moment the world stood still but at the same time, Heahmund was very aware that the only reason they were safe right now was the storm. As this thought finally hit, he broke away from Ivar and slowly pulled him to his feet.

"We should go…" He whispered and this time there was no further delay. 

A part of him knew that it was a bad idea to bring Ivar home to his house. A part of him knew that he should bring Ivar to his own apartment and go home. This had already gone too far as he had reciprocated the kiss. No, this had gone too far ever since he had allowed Ivar to flirt with him and indulged him in his advances. He should have set boundaries for this boy way sooner and now he felt like he was free-falling into the abyss with nothing to hold onto to save himself and no other way but down. And yet, he was not afraid of the inevitable impact. He was only a man, he told himself, and men had urges. Nothing else seemed to matter for now. Not the circumstances they were in. Not the fact that he was a priest and Ivar a teenager. Not even the fact that neither one of them was thinking straight after this rather stressful encounter. It was the worst idea possible and still, Heahmund felt like he was completely and utterly helpless against it. 

The trek to his apartment was in fact a short one. He was living close to the harbor in a narrow house with a white painted facade that looked like it stood there for centuries, defying wind and weather, the formerly red roof shingles covered in a patina left behind by decades of salty air and dirt from the sea. It didn't have a basement, which had been odd for him at first but made sense, all things considered. As they made their way to his house, Heahmund thought the cold rain and the wind might just cool down their urges and their burning desire but the moment he unlocked the door, he knew what would happen next. The wood of the green door creaked to welcome him home. He allowed Ivar to slip inside first, worried that one of the town’s gossips would see them together like this and draw their own conclusions about the encounter. The moment he stepped through the door and closed it behind himself, Ivar was right there, his lips burning hot against Heahmund’s waiting mouth. Distantly, he grew aware of the clattering sound that Ivar’s crutches made as the young man dropped them to hold onto Heahmund’s soaked shirt instead. He leaned heavily into Heahmund, not equipped to hold himself up without help for long. Heahmund acted swiftly as he dragged his hands down Ivar’s spine, towards his ass, and further down before he was able to hoist him up - never breaking the intoxicating connection of their lips. 

Ivar all but melted into him as he carried him up the narrow staircase through the dark hallway and towards the bedroom at the end of it. Heahmund was by far not the strongest man but right now Ivar seemed to weigh little more than a feather. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rushing through his veins after what had transpired this night. A part of him urged him to put a stop to this - reminding him that Ivar was not in the right frame of mind after the shit that he had been through in the past twelve hours or so. Yet, he couldn't stop himself and he prayed for forgiveness as his lust got the better of him. 

Slowly, he sat Ivar down onto the edge of his bed, his back bent so he would not need to part with those sinful lips or that wicked tongue. They broke apart only to get rid of their soaked clothes, throwing them onto the wooden floorboards of the ancient house. Ivar’s chest was beautifully sculpted from a lifetime of relying on the strength of his chest and arms. He watched how Ivar crawled back to rest against the headboard of Heahmund’s bed and he was quick to follow him. A low moan escaped the young man as Heahmund slowly kissed a path down his chest, towards his stomach, and then wandering deeper south where a trail of dark hair pointed the way to paradise.

Only as he reached the waistband of Ivar’s jeans and his fingers found the top button, did Ivar finally put a stop to the situation. Finally, a voice in the back of Heahmund’s mind rejoiced, one of them showed common sense!

“Don't,” Ivar whispered completely out of breath. He wished it would be light enough inside the room to see if his cheeks were flushed or not. 

“I’m sorry,” Heahmund said quickly as he sat up in bed, his heart racing as a sudden wave of panic hit him square in the chest and nearly made him topple over. “I shouldn't have- You are right, this is-”

“It's just,” Ivar interrupted him quietly - all bravado suddenly drained from him. “My legs … they are not nice to look at.”

Heahmund wanted to protest immediately, tell him that surely it wasn't so bad, tell him that he was perfect just the way he was but another part of his mind told him that this was his chance to evade this situation one more time and get the necessary distance between them. They had not yet overstepped that line in the sand. They could still come back from this unscathed. Yet, as he looked at Ivar, even in the darkness of his bedroom he could make out fear in those perfect blue eyes. He was full of fear. Fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of never finding love. Instead of pulling away, he put a hand on Ivar’s cheek.

“Let me be the judge of that, Ivar,” He hummed, his voice a dark promise of the pleasures to come if Ivar would allow him to. Who was the snake in the Garden of Eden now? Who was the seducer now? The uncertainty remained in Ivar’s eyes but now Heahmund was driven by a new feeling, a new desire. It was not lust that made him climb on top of Ivar once more but the desire to make this young man feel good in his own body, to make him realize that he was still desirable, still beautiful regardless of how his legs might look like. If he would be able to do that for Ivar, maybe he would be able to tell himself that he was not that bad of a person, that he was not doing such a bad thing right here. He distracted Ivar with another kiss as he opened his pants before traveling down to his neck and burying his teeth in the soft flesh of Ivar’s throat as he pulled down his jeans. It was not easy work thanks to the soaked denim but he succeeded regardless. Slowly, he pulled the jeans down Ivar’s legs and finally freed him completely from the soaked fabric. Ivar’s legs were a minefield of scars and bumps, thin and weak as if they belonged to a completely different person. He drove his fingers carefully across the paperwhite skin that so rarely seemed allowed to see the sun.

“See?” Ivar breathed and as he gazed up, he noticed how the teenager was staring at the ceiling. “They are ugly.” So much self-loathing, so much fear layered his voice and all Heahmund wanted was that Ivar looked at him instead of the cracks in the painted ceiling. He pressed a kiss to Ivar’s right knee and slowly worked his way down towards his foot instead of replying anything. “What are you doing?” Ivar asked but he couldn't deny that his breathing quickened at Heahmund’s machinations. “Stop it…” As he gently bit his ankle, Ivar let out a soft sigh, giving in at last.

“God does not make mistakes, Ivar,” He replied softly before he worked his way up the other leg, pausing only to administer another bite at the inside of Ivar’s thigh, startling a low moan from the young man. His boxer shorts were already straining by the look of it while Heahmund’s own erection was pressing against the fabric of his own soaked pants, demanding to be let out, demanding to claim that body beneath him. And yet, he took his time as he worked his way up again to claim Ivar’s lips while his fingers pulled at the waistband of Ivar’s shorts. Their next kiss was unrefined, a clashing of teeth as Ivar moaned deeply into his mouth the moment he took hold of his erection. His fingers closed deftly around the hot flesh, tugging on it just enough to make Ivar groan at the touch but never enough to make him come. Not yet.

At this point, there was no going back anymore, no stopping, no time for second thoughts - not that there would be any. Ivar seemed just as keen as he was and briefly he wondered if the kid had any experience in this field. The way he moved his body against Heahmund, the way his legs fell open for him spoke of at least _some_ experience. As he broke their kiss anew, Ivar let out a wanton moan before Heahmund brought his fingers up to Ivar’s plump lips instead. “I don't have lube,” He grinned sheepishly. 

Ivar looked at him puzzled for a moment - and wasn’t that a sight to behold? His hair wet and a complete mess, his eyes round, his pupils blown wide with wanton desire. Then he opened his mouth and took Heahmund’s fingers in as if he had done so a million times before. His eyes fell shut as his tongue swirled around the fingers between his lips, flicking the tips teasingly before Heahmund pulled back, the digits now dripping with saliva. To Heahmund, it became harder and harder with each second to restrain himself, to remind himself of the self-taught discipline so that he would not simply take him here and now.

It seemed a lifetime ago that Heahmund had last done anything like that and even though the urge to claim Ivar’s body without waiting a second longer was strong within him, his cock aching to be released, at last, he took his time as he slid his finger between Ivar’s legs. He pressed his lips to Ivar’s throat once more, could feel the anxiety vibrating through the teen who was always so loud, brash, and boisterous, as he circled the pad of his middle finger around the warm, pucked entrance before sliding it in - no rush or force behind it. He kept the pressure careful and smooth, hoping he wouldn't hurt Ivar and not for the first time tonight wishing that he would have lube at hand. Then again, a priest buying lube would look all sorts of wrong and weird. Ivar’s back arched under the pressure of the intruding finger but he didn't cramp up and he did not look too uncomfortable as Heahmund leaned his forehead against Ivar’s to have a good look at his eyes. He couldn't help but wonder if Ivar might be familiar with this sensation because he had experimented on himself. The thought alone made all blood rush out of his head and straight into his nether regions. The mischievous twinkle in Ivar’s eyes told him that this assumption was exactly right but Heahmund wouldn't dare ask him that. And yet, Heahmund couldn't help but wonder if Ivar might have experimented with Heahmund on his mind. After a few moments, the tight ring of muscle seemed to loosen a bit so that he could easily slide a second finger in, pumping them in and out slowly as he worked Ivar open patiently.

“Heahmund,” Ivar moaned - the way he pronounced his name, the breathlessness of the syllables dripping from his throat, made shivers run down his spine. “Do it already, please…”

Not in a million years, he would have thought to be here at one point. Ivar was a tease in every sense of the word. He was not the snake tempting him - he was the apple, the temptation itself, and Heahmund was Eve, unable to resist, unable to withstand his urges. As he pulled away from Ivar and took his fingers out of him he only did so to get up and lose his pants and boxer shorts, Ivar’s ever-attentive eyes on him. Did his eyes widen just a little more as Ivar took sight of his straining cock? He noticed how he was licking his lips, his stomach quivering with nervous energy and anticipation before Heahmund climbed back onto the bed and fell over Ivar like a shadow or a ravaging beast. 

Rain was drumming relentlessly against the window as Heahmund claimed Ivar’s body at last. The bedroom remained in darkness as Heahmund breached the tight ring of muscle without much resistance. Ivar’s low moan was all the encouragement he needed to press onwards. It had been a long while since he had last been with another man like this but his experiences paled in comparison to Ivar - as everything in his life seemed to pale in comparison to Ivar lately. So easily did he fit inside as if they were meant to be united like this. God didn't make mistakes. Perhaps God would forgive him this sin, in time. Perhaps there was nothing to forgive. Perhaps all of this was of God’s grand design. How else would he be able to explain that he had fallen so completely, so utterly, so helplessly for that insolent brat?

He stopped only as he was fully sheathed inside, giving Ivar time to adjust to this new sensation of being claimed so completely by another man. Heahmund couldn't deny to himself the rush of this sensation of power he felt, the deep-seated lust it awoke inside of him anew after years of being abstinent and staying true to the rules of the church. The church - the place he had chosen out of fear of his father in some ways and in other ways because of the childish hope that he might be saved at last if he would give himself completely to God. Slowly, because his body demanded it and he was only a slave to his desires, he started to move inside of Ivar, tearing a gasp from his lips as he did.

Before he knew it, Ivar’s fingers were in his hair, pulling him again and again into exhausted kisses as Heahmund started thrusting into him steadily, spurred on by his desire burning through his every fiber as he did. The roaring thunder outside ripped the cacophony of moans out of their mouths as they were reduced to their most basic, most animalistic nature. Ivar moved against him like the waves rolling towards the shore, meeting his thrusts as much as he could. There was not much finesse to their tryst and Heahmund knew that neither one of them would last as long as he wished they would. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the sounds Ivar produced in the back of his throat every time Heahmund managed to thrust against the delicate swell of his prostate and his desire to make the teenager see stars and forget his own name. Not an inch remained between their bodies now, so firmly they latched together, Ivar’s own cock trapped between them, massaged only by the moving of their bodies but otherwise ignored.

He could feel the pleasure building inside of Ivar - felt it in the vibrations of his stomach, in the way his breath would hitch between the low moans he produced, in the rapid beating of his heart. With every thrust, he pushed Ivar closer and closer to the edge and when he came it was like being hit by lightning. His body reacted so violently to the climax that it clenched around him, trapping Heahmund in that tight, wet heat, forcing the orgasm out of him as Ivar pulled him over the edge with him. 

As they later lay side by side in Heahmund’s bed and were still trying to calm their breathing and their galloping hearts, Heahmund could not help but breathe out a chuckle. Ivar, of course, took it to move closer, crawl on top of him and rest his chin against Heahmund’s chest to stare up at him. He didn't allow regret and guilt to claim him - not when Ivar would look at him like this.

“What's so funny, old man?” He murmured. Heahmund could tell that, despite the mischievous glint in his eyes, Ivar was desperately exhausted and tired from the day’s events. Stress and fatigue were soon to claim him. 

“I came to the conclusion that you have a very weird way of flirting, that's all,” Heahmund huffed in response, as he brushed his hands through Ivar’s long hair. He wondered if they would be able to find Ivar’s hair tie in the morning or if he would be forced to leave Heahmund’s house with his hair down like this. “And that you never should be left unsupervised.”

※※※※※※※

The morning came with a dozen missed calls on his phone. He elected to ignore them for a little while longer as he sunk back into the soft bed and the warmth of Heahmund’s embrace. Pale sunlight filtered in through white IKEA curtains and through the tilted window the fresh morning air filled the room. Ivar had always loved the air after a storm when the world seemed fresh and reborn and all was forgiven. For a moment longer, he could pretend like the world outside of this bedroom didn't exist. Heahmund was still asleep next to him and a part of him couldn't quite believe what had happened last night between them. 

So much had happened yesterday that it felt unreal to think about it. And the day had begun simple enough with him and Ubbe working at the farmer’s market like they did almost every Saturday. From one moment to the next his big brother Hvitserk had ended up at the hospital and then Ivar had almost killed a guy only to end the day fucking a priest. What a wild ride. Not that he would ever complain about the last part. And still, there was so much left unsaid, so many things left to discuss and think about. He was afraid of the moment Heahmund would stir next to him and realize the mistake he had made in fucking a cripple.

“Good morning,” Heahmund’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and Ivar found himself holding his breath for a moment. A part of him was afraid that Heahmund would realize what had happened and freak out. Instead, however, Heahmund opened his eyes and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. No morning-after-panic? 

“You never fail to surprise me,” Ivar hummed quietly as he snuggled closer into his arms. His words provoked a chuckle to escape Heahmund’s throat. It sounded hoarse and sleepy. He liked this version of Heahmund - this version somewhere between asleep and awake. He looked much younger right now than he would do in his black suits - reminding Ivar that there were not even ten years between them.

“Why?”

“Well, I expected panic, righteous fury, fire, and brimstone”, Ivar huffed.

“Ah,” Heahmund laughed. “No fire and brimstone here…” And yet there was something clinging to his voice that Ivar could not quite decipher. The feeling of guilt, perhaps?

“No regrets?”

“No regrets.”

“Curious.”

“ _Curiouser and curiouser!_ \- cried Alice.”

“Oh no,” Ivar laughed. “Only now you reveal to me that you are a big fucking British nerd?”

“Well, how else would I have been able to court you properly? Now there is no escaping from me anymore and you have to bear my weird interests and book trivia. Once a year, I have a Harry Potter marathon when I watch all the movies and every afternoon at five it's tea time.”

“Disaster strikes my heart…” Ivar laughed quietly. Despite their quips and jokes, reality hung in the air, a bright pink elephant in the room that both of them elected to ignore. Just for a little while longer. There was more than enough time for them to acknowledge the true peril they were in now that they had crossed the line in the sand. “There was this girl at school,” Ivar began quietly even though he had no idea what drove him to tell this tale. Perhaps, a part of him hoped that he would provoke sympathy inside of Heahmund so that the priest would not shoo him out anytime soon and pretend as if nothing had happened. He wanted to buy himself some time before the inevitable conversation that needed to be held. “Freydis. She and her twin sister Katia moved to Kattegat a little over a year ago. We became fast friends. I didn't have any other friends. No one wanted to hang out with the cripple. Sigurd warned me about them. I remember fighting with him about it a lot before he left for university. I told him he was jealous. Turns out, he only had my best interest at heart. He wanted to protect me.”

“What happened?” Heahmund hummed and pulled him tighter into his embrace.

“From my perspective?” Ivar chuckled even as recalling the events broke his heart in two. “From my perspective, Freydis started flirting with me and I was baffled by it. I didn't know I was gay yet back then. Never had any girl looked at me twice at this point. Of course, I was excited and fell head over heels for her - at least I thought I did. Last year my school had this Halloween thing in the mountains. It was the first time that I actually partook in a school party and I did it only because of her. I was so excited. We even had matching costumes. Anyway … at one point, she pulled me away from the group and into the woods. We started kissing and making out and shit and then … Well … I couldn't get it up, you know? I was so fucking embarrassed. There was this stunning girl and my prick didn't work. That wasn't the worst part, though. She had me on the ground, naked, of course and then, all of a sudden her other friends jumped out and started laughing. I stumbled right into their trap. And Freydis laughed too. She pointed at me and called me a faggot for not getting it up. Needless to say, someone filmed the whole thing, of course, to show it around in school. For the longest time, I thought that clearly, something was wrong with me because I never really got aroused when looking at women. I thought, I just needed to meet the right one and I thought Freydis was that woman. Sometimes … men with brittle-bone disease are impotent, you know? It took me a moment to realize that _my_ body was not the problem there - and I didn't want her to be right either.”

“Kids are cruel,” Heahmund murmured as he pressed a kiss to Ivar’s hair. He remembered that night vividly despite the accident later that same night, despite months at the hospital. A part of him back then had hoped that Freydis would show mercy after he had almost died that night - but he had learned the hard way that most people were merciless in their dealings with people that were weaker than them or that they perceived to be less than them. 

“This guy … Oleg, the one I send to the hospital, he’s Katia’s boyfriend. He was behind this whole thing and he kept tormenting me ever since. He put photos of naked men all over my locker and did all kinds of shit to make my life a living hell since then.”

“You will grow from this experience,” Heahmund promised and for the first time Ivar felt like this might actually be true. He had never really talked about any of this to anyone, not even his brothers. He had never told them why he had needed to be picked up that night and even Hvitserk didn't know the whole story and how far the bullying had gone. He couldn't bring himself to talk to his brothers about it. He was already a burden, after all. “I wish there was something I could tell you to make it better but there is nothing that I could say.”

“I know,” Ivar said quietly. “It's fine. I’m a big boy.”

“That you are,” Heahmund sighed. “Also your phone has rung the entire night.”

“Mhm … I am aware,” He sighed. “I should probably … show that I’m alive…” He didn't want to leave the warmth of Heahmund’s bed though. He didn't want to leave the warmth of Heahmund’s embrace either. Here in this bed, he was safe and sound and he would much rather continue last night's activities than get up and face his family. 

“You know that we need to talk about last night, do you?” Heahmund’s words were like being doused with ice-water and a part of him wanted to take his clothes and just jump out of the window. Now Heahmund would do the killing blow. He was certain of it.

“I know,” Ivar said regardless, even though his heart was racing. 

“We shouldn't have done any of this.”

“I know,” Ivar said again as he refused to meet Heahmund’s eyes and instead trained them at Heahmund’s toned chest, breathing in his scent for what might be the last time. “I get it. I know we can't do that again. I know you know that you made a mistake. It's fine. I mean … it's bad enough for you to have broken your vow of celibacy but to have done so with me is a whole other can of worms...”

“It is,” Heahmund agreed quietly. It was like a dagger in his heart. “You were not in the right frame of mind last night and I took advantage of it … I can't help the guilt of it gnawing at me, Ivar. I should have been wiser than to allow this to happen last night - even though my word is still true and I don't regret it. It wasn't right of me to take you to bed. I should have brought you home. You are a teenager, not even eighteen yet - not to mention the power-imbalance here! I was … so stupid for allowing this because, in the end, you will be the one who gets hurt and not me. I shouldn't have done any of this. You are too precious to me for taking advantage of you like this after all the shit you’ve been through lately.”

He was flabbergasted by his words. They were not what he would have expected to hear from Heahmund at all. Then again, what had he expected to hear of him? Certainly not that Heahmund was so concerned about his mental state or that he would feel so guilty because he thought he had taken advantage of Ivar.

“I can assure you,” he said quietly. “I knew exactly what I did last night and I knew exactly what I was consenting to last night, Heahmund. I was … agitated, yes. I was stressed, yes … but I still knew what I was doing after this whole Erik thing. Last night … the only thing that made sense to me was being with you like this. It was the only thing that seemed remotely reasonable to me. I don't regret it. I don't think you took advantage of me. If anything, I am just as guilty. I was the one who initiated all of this. I was the one who made you break your vows, after all.”

“And yet what I did was a crime and what you did was not,” Heahmund sighed. “I could go to prison for this, you know that, right?”

There it was again, the dagger in his heart, now slicing him open to his stomach. The realization that he had won and lost Heahmund with what happened last night hit him square in the stomach and he just wanted to turn back time now and undo it all. Heahmund didn't blame him, he could hear it in his voice, and yet Ivar felt like, once again, he had destroyed the one good thing he had in his life. He would have been perfectly content in seeing Heahmund every day for the rest of his community service and perhaps keep him as a friend afterward. And now … if anyone would find out about them, he would be the one responsible for Heahmund’s downfall. He was the one who had seduced a priest, after all. The worst about it was that no one would believe him. How could a cripple seduce a priest?

“I turn eighteen in four months,” He muttered quietly. He knew it was a lame excuse. He might be technically almost eighteen but, in the end, he wasn't eighteen yet. He was a kid still. At least according to the law and the law didn't care about the shit he had been through and how he had been forced to mature quicker than his peers because of it. The reality of this situation washed over him with all the brutality of the storm last night. He could feel the scream that was trapped in his throat, the sob that was tearing at his insides and wanted to come out. He refused to cry now. After all, it was he who had messed up all of this. He couldn't cry about it now. 

“But you are not eighteen yet,” Heahmund whispered and brushed his fingers through his hair so tenderly as if he was afraid to break him. “We cannot do this again, Ivar. It shouldn't have happened in the first place.”

“You said you don't regret it.” It was childish and only proved Heahmund’s point and yet Ivar couldn't help it.

“I don't,” The priest said again. “I enjoyed every second of it - which is exactly the problem. I shouldn't have allowed it to escalate as far as it did. But that doesn't mean I regret that it did happen. I know it's confusing. It's confusing to me. All I am trying to say is … that this can’t happen again - not until November at least.”

Ivar blinked in surprise at these words. “So, it's all fine and dandy for you when I am eighteen?”

“It would be legal then,” Heahmund sighed. He could hear the desperation in his tone. “God knows I want you, Ivar.”

It was all a hell of a ride. He had trouble grasping it all. Heahmund was certainly right. If all of this guilt that Heahmund experienced right now was just because of the law, so be it. Right? Not that Ivar had ever given a crap about the law. “Kissing would still be okay until then, right?”

His question startled a laugh out of Heahmund. “Kissing would be fine,” He then said and took the chance to capture Ivar’s lips for barely a second. There was something bittersweet about it that Ivar couldn't quite explain. They were not even a couple and yet it felt like a break-up. Stupid, of course. They were talking about four months until them having sex would be legal - even though they would still need to hide it. Maybe Heahmund was right, after all, Ivar thought. This whole situation was one big mess. He had thought that he might be able to seduce the priest, maybe give him a blow-job, maybe having him fuck him and be done with it. He would have never expected that he would catch actual feelings and make it all so much more complicated in the process. 

“I have to go take a shower…” The man said quietly, his fingers brushing gently over Ivar’s cheek. “It's Sunday … I don't expect you want to come, hm?”

“You know I love to watch you work,” Ivar huffed as he peppered kisses down Heahmund’s throat instead now. He didn't want to part from him - regardless of the things that they had just discussed. And, regardless of Heahmund’s words, he still felt on top of the world in a very weird sense of the word. Perhaps it was because he had expected that Heahmund would regret what he had done because of his legs, because of the way he looked, because of his sickness. Maybe it was naive or childish but knowing that it was only a time span of four months that was the issue here, made him feel a strange kind of relief. Four months would go by in a flash. “But I think I should go to my brothers.”

“I think so too.”

Twenty minutes later, Ivar left Heahmund’s cottage after robbing him of another kiss and taking a quick shower - alone, of course. Their parting this morning was just as bittersweet as the conversation that they had had but nonetheless, Ivar knew that it was the right thing to do. They had both overstepped a boundary last night. Sure, Heahmund was the adult but that did not mean that he was the only one responsible - not in Ivar’s mind. It was now on Ivar to respect these new boundaries between them - no matter how hard it was - because the last thing he wanted was to destroy Heahmund’s life. Even though he knew that Heahmund would never blame him for any of this. Heahmund was a peculiar man. He had never quite met the likes of him. He was just as keen to blame himself for things as Ivar was. 

Ivar had to be careful as he did leave the house so that no one would see him do it. He couldn't risk being seen by one of those gossiping old ladies. Sure, Heahmund would be able to come up with some sort of excuse but the sheer fact that Ivar Lothbrok had been seen leaving Father Heahmund’s house in the morning would make people talk about it. Especially since the whole of Kattegat by now seemed aware of his sexuality. He might as well have it tattooed to his forehead. 

Most people were treating him as they had always treated him but that didn't make much difference compared to those who treated him like he had a deadly disease because most people in Kattegat had always looked down on him in some form. Ever since his father had left, there was talk about him in Kattegat. He remembered being little and with his mom in the town square and while his mother had bought something from a vendor on the market, balancing Ivar on her hip, he had overheard two women whispering amongst themselves, pointing at him and saying _‘She put a cuckoo’s egg in his nest. No wonder he left her’_. Back then he hadn't understood what that meant and years later, when he had been old enough, he hadn't dared to ask his brothers if it was true. To this day, he sometimes wondered if he was Ragnar’s kid. Maybe that was why Bjorn hated him so much. Maybe he was not even Bjorn’s brother at all. It would explain so much, wouldn't it? 

The sun had strength already as Ivar walked down the harbor and pulled his phone back out of the pocket of his jeans. He checked again and saw that only three of the calls had been made by Ubbe, the rest of them had all been made by Sigurd. His heart dropped as he read the name on the display. Had something else happened last night? Had Hvitserk’s condition worsened? With trembling fingers, he was about to press the call button, as a voice suddenly called out to him and made him pause on his crutches. 

“Ivar!” He had reached the town’s square, the church was close by and there, on the other side of the street, stood his brother Sigurd and waved at him. Ivar barely had any time to understand what was happening as his brother was already in his face and pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace that left him breathless and confused and his ribs slightly aching. “Jesus Christ, Ivar! I thought something happened to you!”

“What?” Ivar asked, confused as Sigurd let him go again and helped him quickly to steady his weight on his crutches. “Why?”

“You didn't come home last night! When I came home yesterday, you weren’t there! So, I called Ubbe and he told me you had left hours ago at that point. We tried reaching you for hours! We called Floki too but he had no idea where you were either. I was just about to go to the police! Where have you been all night?”

He was baffled. Completely and utterly baffled to be facing such panic on his behalf. The last time he had been met with any kind of worry was when he had been in the hospital after the accident last year but he didn't recall that kind of level of worry - especially not from Sigurd. Well, perhaps it was much worse not to know where your loved one was. After the accident, he had been at the hospital - safe. 

“I’m…” Yes, what? What did he want to say? “I was … Uhm … I was with Heahmund last night.”

“Whos Heah- Oh, that priest, right? You were with the priest? Why the hell would you-” He could see the cogs turning in Sigurd’s head but before his brother could say anything, Ivar quickly interrupted him.

“I couldn't stay home,” Ivar said with a shrug. It was not even a lie, after all. The truth was that he didn't know how much to tell his brothers. Sure he joked about Heahmund and how hot he was but then confessing that he had fucked the man was something else entirely. “I didn't know you were going to come home.”

“I didn't tell anyone,” Sigurd said. “When I talked to Ubbe around eight last night he told me that you went home and I just … I didn't want you to be alone.”

“I’m not a baby…” 

“I know!” Sigurd groaned. “Jeez, Ivar! Can you just … stop being such a bitch for one minute? I’m telling you that I was worried for you! I’m telling you that I didn't want you to be alone in this apartment after what happened! Can you just … be normal for a second here and understand what I am trying to do?”

“Well, what are you trying to do?”

“I am trying to tell you that I love you, you Dingus.” His instincts told him to make a joke but something told him that he shouldn't joke about it. His heart however refused to believe his big brother’s words.

“Sure,” He muttered quietly and Sigurd groaned in response - a deep, guttural sound.

“You are truly the worst Ivar…” There was this ugly twist to Sigurd’s mouth that told Ivar that he would be able to push his brother over the edge and make him say shit that Sigurd would probably regret having said later. He knew exactly how to push his brothers’ buttons, how to make them mad with anger at him. It was so much easier to make them be angry at him than show how much he truly needed and loved them. After all, if they would inevitably leave him, it might hurt not as much if they had been awful to him before, right? 

Sigurd dragged a hand down his face and then, to Ivar’s surprise, he breathed out a chuckle. “The worst … truly,” He said quietly. “It took me a while to realize what you are doing when you goad us into fights like this - Took me being away to see it all from a safe distance.”

“And what am I doing, dear Sigurd? Please do enlighten me with your grand wisdom.”

“You are like a three-year-old toddler screaming at the top of his lungs to get attention - any kind of attention,” Sigurd said calmly. “Because it doesn't matter if people get angry with you. At least they notice you, right? At least they give you attention. You have always been like that but I couldn't quite see it. It's mom’s fault really for spoiling you so much, for giving you all that attention, for poisoning you as she did. And when mom wasn’t there anymore you had to scream and be loud and obnoxious and horrible to get attention from us - from Bjorn. And when Bjorn left, silence got you that same attention from Ubbe. Everything you do, no matter how small, you are doing to get attention. You did it even with me! I didn't realize it! You got on my nerves, bothered the living shit out of me, goaded me into fights - you broke into my apartment - just to get my attention.”

“Don't flatter yourself…” Ivar hissed, scowling at his big brother but Sigurd seemed immune to that look. “I don't want or need your attention. I don't need you.”

“Sure you don't,” Sigurd sighed. “That's what you keep telling yourself and still you broke into my apartment. Still, you are tagging along with Ubbe every Saturday to go shopping with him, still, you nag Hvitserk to spend time with you every chance you get.”

He could feel his cheeks turn pink. “Is it a crime now to be close to your brothers?”

“No, it's just…” Sigurd brushed a hand through his hair, his eyes roaming across the town’s square for a moment before he seemed to have found the right words. “I didn't realize before that you need us so much.”

**-End of Chapter 8-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After proof-reading this chapter, I was really torn if I should delete the sex-scene and the discussion Ivar and Heahmund have the morning after and just tweak it all a bit to make it PG. But then, after much debating back and forth with myself, I decided to keep it all. I always like to stay as true to reality as possible in my fics and I like to portray flawed characters, characters who make mistakes (I mean canon Ivar is really no angel and neither is canon Heahmund). Also, I thought keeping in the discussion the morning after was important as well, to actually address the elephant in the room. Time and time again Ivar's inner monologue in this story tells us that his family always sweeps things under the rug because it's easier and I wanted to kinda showcase that Heahmund is not that type of person. Heahmund addresses things head-on, he's honest, he's flawed, he makes mistakes and owns up to them and I think it was important for Ivar to hear all that and realize that Heahmund is that kind of person because Ivar needs that kind of person in his life.
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments. I was really nervous about this chapter, not gonna lie xD


	9. Chapter 9

Hvitserk was different as he returned from the hospital late that Sunday and Ivar was surprised to get his brother back this quickly to begin with. He would have thought that Hvitserk would stay at least one more day at the hospital. As he returned to the apartment with Ubbe, Hvitserk was weak and exhausted and stayed wrapped up in thick blankets as the brothers sat together in the living room that night. Ivar had not spoken to Ubbe since they had been at the hospital and he barely remembered any of that but when Ubbe returned with Hvitserk, fear clung to Ivar’s mind that his big brother would go through with his ultimatum and kick Hvitserk out as soon as he would start feeling better.

Ubbe, however, did not say a word about that while they were together and he seemed too tired and worried to even think about kicking Hvitserk out. They had crappy delivery food in their living room, watching a Bud Spencer and Terrance Hill marathon all throughout the late afternoon and way into the night and for a little while, for those precious hours in which the four of them sat huddled together despite the heatwave, it was as if they were children again and could forget the horrors that lay behind them.

Later, after Sigurd had kept nodding off and it was determined that it was time for bed, Ubbe couldn't convince Hvitserk to retreat to his bed in the room he shared with Ivar and he couldn't convince him to share Ubbe’s bed either. Ivar knew that Hvitserk wanted to move as little as possible and also that his brother would probably not sleep a whole lot anyway and didn't want to disturb any of them. After all, Ubbe needed to work the next day and Ivar had community service - even though he didn't like the idea of leaving Hvitserk for the whole day. So, Hvitserk stayed on the sofa and Sigurd shared a room with Ivar once again like they used to. Ivar, however, didn't find sleep that night. He felt drawn to Hvitserk after what they had been through and so, when the apartment fell silent, Ivar quietly crawled across the floor through the silent apartment to seek out his big brother. His mind had still trouble catching up with everything that had happened throughout this weekend and perhaps his big brother’s presence would give him a bit more peace of mind to deal with it all. The truth was, Ivar was nervous just thinking about meeting Heahmund again the next day. What if it would be awkward? What if Heahmund had had time to think about all of it and now came to regret it after all?

He found Hvitserk awake and was not even surprised. Hvitserk was sitting upright in his cocoon of blankets, scrolling through his phone, the pale light from the display illuminating his equally pale skin, making him look like a ghost. His brother turned his head and looked at him as he heard Ivar approach and gently smacked the cushion next to him. He too did not seem surprised to see Ivar awake.

“I thought that you had run away,” Hvitserk confessed silently as Ivar pulled himself up on the couch and leaned against his brother. Hvitserk eagerly shared his blanket with Ivar and even though it was quite warm in the room, Ivar gladly accepted it and switched the TV back on - not to watch, of course, only to have something as background noise. He briefly noticed that the choir scene from _‘Watch Out, We’re Mad!’_ was on. “I thought … after I overdosed again … you ran away and that I would never see you again. When Sigurd called and told Ubbe that you weren't home I thought my heart stopped.”

“I didn't mean to scare you … to scare anyone,” Ivar muttered quietly and leaned his head against Hvitserk’s head. Now that they were alone and their other two brothers asleep, it was easier for Ivar to show just a slight bit of vulnerability. He thought about Sigurd’s words, though, from earlier today. Was it truly that obvious how much he needed his big brothers in his life? For the longest time, he had been certain that he would do fine all by himself, that he did not need anyone in his life, to guard himself and his heart from the hurt that came with being left again and again. Apparently, he had done a piss poor job when it came to guarding his heart. “When I came here … I was so … agitated, I had to go out and … I don't know … I wanted to talk to someone.”

He wondered if he should tell Hvitserk about the incident with his drug dealer but Hvitserk certainly felt rotten enough already. If he would hear that story, he would just further his big brother’s pain and guilt. After all, the incident could have ended with Ivar unconscious or dead on the ground instead of Erik and Hvitserk would blame himself for it. 

Hvitserk sighed as he put his phone away and his arm around Ivar instead. He pulled him close just as the mobster on the screen pushed the painting to the side to take aim at the heroes. Ivar allowed this closeness for a moment. At least to himself, he could admit that he craved this closeness. “After that accident,” Hvitserk said quietly. “I promised myself that I would never put you or anyone I love in harm's way anymore. I promised myself to stay clean and healthy to look out for my family like I never did before in my life. I should have been stronger yesterday.”

“It's not your fault,” Ivar muttered. The accident hung like a dark cloud above their heads. He wondered if it would ever dissolve or remain a burden on his brother’s shoulder for the rest of his life. “It's mine … for riling you up-”

“I’m not a raw egg, you know?” Hvitserk huffed, cutting him right off again. “You can still fight with me and rile me up without me relapsing. It wasn't the fight.”

“No?”

“No, doofus,” Hvitserk sighed. “It was … the memories of mom, talking about that … _bitch_.” That took Ivar by surprise. Hvitserk had always avoided the topic. Even yesterday he had not said how he truly felt about their mother. Hvitserk was a people pleaser in many ways and way more agreeable than Ivar himself was. It was rare for him to speak ill about the people in his life. Now his words were laced with poison and before Ivar could say anything, his brother resumed talking. 

“The truth is, Ivar, that mom was horrible to us - you especially,” He said as the mobster on screen was slowly making his way across the catwalk after his initial plan had been ruined. He remembered being a little boy, sitting in Ubbe’s lap on the ground just inches away from the TV and biting his nails as this scene had played out. “She … She wasn’t well, you know? I mean … Yes, for a long time everything was fine and dandy and she was a devoted mother to us but … at some point the first cracks started to appear. Long before you were born. She and dad … I don't know … Bjorn could tell you more about that. I didn't pay much attention to their quarrels back then and I was way too young anyway to really understand everything. Anyway, they didn't get along very well at one point. I don't know the details, but I can make an educated guess now as an adult. Anyway … they had Sigurd and Mom thought that might mend their relationship and for a while, it worked, and then you came along as a surprise and … well. Dad … He didn't leave because of _you_ , Ivar. He was gone long before he left. After Dad left, Mom … she kinda lost it. Love can be poisonous, Ivar. Love is not always good and pure. She did horrible shit.”

“I don't believe you.” He didn't even have time to think about Hvitserk’s story. The words left his mouth without his consent. Maybe it was his inner child that was still refusing to listen to his brother badmouthing his beloved mother. 

“Then don't,” Hvitserk replied quietly. “I can't force you, Nugget. I would appreciate it, however, if you would refrain from going outside in the middle of a storm at night and beat up drug dealers from now on.” As Ivar looked at him out of wide eyes, Hvitserk chuckled. “What? He sent me a message. Apologized for the shit he sold me, told me about your little tête-a-tête in the rain.”

“Oh…”

“He could have killed you, Ivar,” Hvitserk said and knocked his head against Ivar’s. “I want you to promise me that you never do something like that ever again for me, okay? If you would die because of my own stupidity and weakness, I would never forgive myself. I wouldn't be able to live with it. So, _for me_ , promise me that you won’t insert yourself in something like that ever again.”

“No,” Ivar said. “I don't care what you say. You’re my brother. If I have to beat up a drug dealer with my crutches, I will.”

“You are a pest.” Hvitserk sighed but before Ivar could say anything, he pressed a kiss to the side of his head and turned his attention back to the TV instead.

※※※※※※※

It was hard to resist temptation as he sat alone inside the chilly church with Heahmund. Well, the sight of Christ hanging dead on the Cross with a pained face helped a little to keep his libido in check - but only marginally. He was, after all, a horny teenager - as Heahmund had so cleverly remarked the other day. Outside it was raining cats and dogs again so Heahmund had given him a new task inside the church instead. He was cleaning and polishing the wood of the pews. Talk about occupational therapy. At least it was not awkward between them, Ivar thought. That had been his greatest worry when he had returned to the church on Monday. By now it was Friday and they had found a weird middle ground while they were at the church. 

“What's with the long face?” Heahmund scoffed as he walked in, a box in his arms that was filled with books as it seemed. For the bazaar that would be held later in the community center.

“Listen,” Ivar sighed. “planting flowers and all that jazz was work that made sense and had a payoff! But this? Cleaning and polishing benches? If I wouldn't know it any better, dear Heahmund, I would assume you hated me and wanted me gone from your life forever.”

“It's community service, _dear Ivar_ ,” Heahmund quipped back, amusement evident in his voice. “It's not meant to be rewarding work. It's meant to suck and feel like a punishment. I have been way too lenient with you anyway.”

“Oh have you now? Can I expect that you pull out the whip soon?”

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” Heahmund grinned before he pointed - as much as he could with his arms full - at a spot to Ivar’s left. “There you missed a spot.”

“Just admit it: You like seeing me on my knees.”

“Shush!” Heahmund grinned. As long as they were alone they could joke around like this and it felt good to Ivar. It really did. He would never dare to call Heahmund his boyfriend but … yes what? What were they? What would happen to them if Ivar’s time was up and he wouldn't be able to be here every day? Maybe Heahmund already regretted being involved with him. Maybe by now, Heahmund had realized that four months were a whole lot longer than he was willing to wait. Maybe by now, Heahmund had realized that he didn't want a relationship like this where he wasn’t even really allowed to touch him? God knew Ivar had a hard time with that part! He knew that should not think so much about the situation. They were not hurting anyone, after all, and their little deal was solid. He would turn eighteen soon. A legal adult. And Heahmund … Sure he was breaking his vows but … it was a stupid vow, to begin with. 

Instead of leaving, Heahmund remained rooted to the spot and as Ivar looked at him again, the priest clicked his tongue, put the box on one of the benches that Ivar had not yet polished, and sat down on the one Ivar was currently working at. “That wrinkle in-between your eyebrows,” Heahmund suddenly said before all but stabbing his fingertip in the crease between Ivar’s brows. “What are you thinking about?”

He felt strangely called out and at the same time pleased that Heahmund was so attentive when it came to him. A blush crept up his neck and he wanted to reach out and kiss Heahmund. Even he knew, of course, that it was too risky to do any of that here in the church. “It's stupid,” He said. “You would think I’m stupid and immature.”

“Nothing you could say would make me think that,” Heahmund said and, not for the first time, Ivar desperately wanted to believe him. “Tell me. I want to know everything that worries you so that we might fight your demons together.” Those words would have sounded cheesy out of the mouth of anyone else and Ivar would certainly have not believed anyone else either. Heahmund’s pale blue eyes were honest, though, as he looked at him so openly and without restraint. Ivar had never met anyone like him. This thought hit him now harder than anytime before. He had never met a person who was not hiding behind some wall or another. 

“I just … I was wondering … What are we really? I mean … for each other,” Ivar said even though he himself had a much harder time being open and honest about his thoughts and feelings - odd, considering that he was often accused of having no filter. “Perhaps … putting a label on it is a bit soon but … I’m not sure … I’ve never been in a situation like this before and … sometimes putting labels on things ... helps.”

“I love you.” The answer came much quicker and much more straight-forward than he would have expected. It was like being hit by an anvil or like being run over by a truck. “I adore you. I desire you - in case that was not clear before. Is that enough of a label or do you need me to continue?” Now he was the one teasing. 

Ivar needed a moment to understand and let everything after _‘I love you’_ sink in. To hear words like this from Heahmund’s mouth … He wouldn't have thought to hear them so soon - to hear them at all. Even after the talk that they had the morning after they had first had sex, it wouldn't have surprised him if Heahmund would have just toyed with him a little. That, however, spoke more of his own rotten mind than that it would speak ill about Heahmund’s character. 

“You love me?” He was a little ashamed about how soft and quiet his own voice suddenly sounded. Heahmund, however, reacted with a twitch of his lips to it. Suddenly, Ivar’s neck felt incredibly hot and he was not above scratching it.

“I do,” Heahmund said. “And I understand that this might sound frightening for someone as young as you are-”

“You sound like an old man. You are barely eight years older than me!”

“Yet, I am older and I have more experience,” Heahmund sighed. “And I walked into this with open eyes, Ivar. I just want you to know that … All I expect from you going forward is honesty. You are free to find your own path in life, free to choose and if you find that this … relationship might not be the right thing for you, it's okay. You are still young - I am still young. So much can change in a heartbeat. Entire worlds are built and torn down in the blink of an eye. What I am meaning to say is that I do not think that it is necessary to put a label on this relationship as long as we know what we feel for each other. It is not necessary to plan our entire life together right away either. God brought us together and I do not assume to know His will but He has brought us together for a reason, Ivar. Whatever this reason may be, we should just enjoy the time we get. God doesn't make mistakes.” He all but whispered the last words as he leaned in closer towards Ivar and tapped him gently on his right leg. He was so close that Ivar almost expected to kiss him, yet Heahmund quickly sat up straight again as if to tease him.

“How is it that you always find the right words?”

“It's a gift,” Heahmund laughed as he finally stood up again and picked his box up again. “Now chop-chop! Back to work! Those pews do not polish themselves!” 

Ivar huffed out a laugh as he watched him walk away. Only when Heahmund was outside, Ivar returned to his work. His thoughts were still occupied with Heahmund’s words as he continued this rather mind-numbing work. 

The priest - _his_ priest - had so easily been able to speak his mind and his heart. In a way, Ivar thought, that showed him how much growing he himself had yet to do. It felt a little intimidating, this power imbalance between them. Heahmund was only eight years older and yet he seemed to know so much more than Ivar knew, had seen so much more than Ivar had seen. He knew who he was and what he wanted while Ivar kept stumbling through life - with such a tiny thing as a confession of love managing to throw him completely off-balance. A part of him was afraid that it would all end in disaster. And even if it wouldn't, they would never be able to show their feelings for each other in public. People would judge them for all kinds of reasons. Not that he would have thought about that in the beginning, right? In the beginning, he had just desired a fling with the hot priest and now here he was, his thoughts and heart occupied with Heahmund whether he liked to admit it or not. 

“Ivar?” A deep voice echoed from the stone walls and ripped him from his thoughts. For a second he was sure to see Ubbe when he would look up but as he did, he could only see the figure of a very tall man standing near the entrance, his face all but obscured in the shadows for a moment before he took another step forward. He was much taller than Ubbe was, with strong, muscular arms and tree trunks for legs. He remembered, a lifetime ago, that those same arms had thrown him up in the air and caught him again as if he weighed nothing. Well … to his big brother he probably did weigh nothing at the time. He recognized the man near the doors as his brother Bjorn in a matter of milliseconds even as his brain refused to make sense of what he was seeing.

Bjorn waved at him as he caught sight of Ivar as if they had seen each other only yesterday and slowly walked down the nave. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a nicely-tailored blazer, a t-shirt to top the casual-business-look off just like Ivar remembered it. The light grey fabric of his blazer showed dark spots that made Ivar conclude that his brother had not made the effort of taking an umbrella as he got out of his car and jogged towards the church. Ivar’s mind was racing as he watched his brother approach, frozen in the spot like a deer caught in the headlights of an upcoming truck. It felt like he had swallowed his tongue. Suddenly, he felt unable to speak or even untangle the giant knot that was his thoughts. Bjorn Lothbrok looked the exact same as he did six years ago and he even had the audacity to smile at his little brother while Ivar was on the ground polishing the wood of a church bench like some medieval slave. And why? Well, in essence, because Bjorn had not been there to supervise him so that he wouldn't get into this mess in the first place.

Then again, he would have never met Heahmund then, and meeting Heahmund might just have been the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“Don't you recognize me?” Bjorn asked as he was a couple of steps away from Ivar and he still had not said a word. He spoke in a way that was reminiscent of that one distant uncle or family friend who everyone had and who only would show up at weddings or funerals to say such things as _‘Oh my, how you’ve grown!’_. Yes, Ivar thought, that was exactly it. Bjorn spoke like they were strangers. “It's me-”

“I was eleven years old when you fucking ditched us, not four.”

Bjorn seemed startled by this answer for a second but he quickly recovered and breathed out a chuckle, scratching his neck awkwardly and nodding his head just slightly in a way that made him look like a bobble-head dog. “Good to see that some things never change, huh?”

“What do you want?” Ivar asked in a clipped tone as he returned to his job and put a little more aggression into it. 

“I came to talk.”

“Yeah, you are six years too late for that.” 

“Ivar, come on, give me a break.”

“Not gonna happen,” He scoffed. “I am sure that Ubbe has already told you what a mean, unwelcoming, pain in the ass I am to everyone around me, so you can just fuck off and leave me the fuck alone, Bjorn.”

“In fact,” Bjorn said as he took a seat on one of the benches on the other side of the nave. “Ubbe has told me that he couldn't be prouder of the man you are becoming. Ubbe told me that you are taking this community service very seriously and that you have grown from your mistakes.” He allowed a snort to slip out and Bjorn took that as his cue to continue talking. Not that he would have given a shit if Ivar would have told him to fuck off. “He has also told me that you are asking about your mom a lot lately and that your memories of her and of the fire are … not very reliable.”

“It's none of your fucking-”

“I’m to blame for that.” Well, that certainly came out of the blue. So much, in fact, that Ivar stopped his work for a moment and yet remained carefully guarded against his brother. He didn't trust Bjorn. Well, how could he after Bjorn had just left him six years ago?

“What are you on about now?”

“I mean … it is my fault that you don't remember things as they truly were.”

“What? Did you mind-control me or something?”

“I lied to you,” Bjorn said with a shrug and had the audacity to look sheepishly to the floor before returning his gaze back at his younger brother. “A lot. Back then it seemed better this way. You didn't understand it. You couldn't understand it. You were too young to understand any of it.”

“Bjorn, I swear to God-”

“Aslaug did not fall asleep with a lit cigarette, Ivar,” Bjorn’s voice echoed from the walls and somewhere in the distance thunder roared across the sky. “Your mom didn't smoke. She never smoked. Think back to your childhood, try to remember, and tell me if you remember her ever having held a cigarette. You can't - Because she didn't. I remember her nagging dad to quit smoking. He did it for her when she was pregnant with Hvitserk. Well, at least he acted as if he truly had stopped smoking. She didn't smoke. Our Uncle pulled some strings during the investigation. The fire in the house had been arson, Ivar.”

“What … Who-”

“Aslaug set the house on fire.” The rumbling of thunder seemed to come closer now, while Ivar’s brain still tried to catch up with the fact that his eldest brother was sitting here with him now as if summoned by some demonic ritual. As he was talking now, he barely gave Ivar a chance to react or understand what he was saying. He was talking fast - like ripping off a band-aid. “She tried killing herself and you guys. You have always said that you barely remember what happened that night. I told you it was because of the smoke poisoning. You don't remember much because you were asleep for most of the time because Aslaug drugged you almost every night so you would sleep.”

His stomach twisted into knots and he didn't know what to say or do about any of this. Five minutes ago his world had been okay and now it seemed to shatter into a million tiny pieces. He wanted Bjorn to stop talking but he had no way of actually achieving that. He was trapped with no way out - like he was in the night of the fire or when Hvitserk had crashed his car with him inside. “What are you talking about?” He asked, his voice soft, almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry that I have to tell you like this but it's better this way than to drag it out unnecessary. You deserve the truth. I know it hurts but-”

“I don't believe a single fucking word you are saying, Bjorn!” He all but spat at his older brother. “Why would I? You said it yourself! You have been lying to me all my life! Why would you tell the truth now? Huh? Nothing you say makes any kind of fucking sense! Go back from where you came! We don't need you here! I don't need you here!”

He hoisted himself back up into his wheelchair and with the familiar _clack-clack_ disengaged the brakes on his wheels. It was easier to flee from this situation than to hope that Bjorn would leave him alone instead because Bjorn had never been good at picking up the cues that someone would give him. Bjorn pushed and pushed and pushed before the other person would lash out at him. It had always been like that between them. Bjorn, however, had never been known to be merciful - not towards his little brother. He came after Ivar quickly - of course, he was no match for him either way - and took over the control of the wheelchair. Suddenly, Ivar had become his prisoner. To his surprise, Bjorn pushed him and his wheelchair up the nave and outside into the pouring rain.

“Where are you taking me? This is kidnapping!”

Bjorn remained silent and soon enough, as he walked towards the gate of the church garden, Ivar knew where they were heading. They were walking past the flowerbeds that he had created with his own two hands, down the pebblestone path, towards the gate of the graveyard that was almost always open. Just like now. Even as they got soaked with rain, Bjorn did not stop. He was a man on a mission and Ivar was helpless against his big brother. His mother’s grave was near an old oak tree and there it lay still, ten years later. The cemetery custodian was taking care of it. There were no fresh flowers, no votive candle. Nothing that indicated that this woman had a family that loved her. Ivar suddenly felt guilty at the sight of the lonely grave of his beloved mother. He had never come here because he had been afraid to come. His brothers, however, did not have the same excuse. They had not come because they hated her. And there were so many reasons for his brothers’ hatred of their mother with which he would be able to argue against Bjorn’s story but there was this cold, bitter voice in the back of his mind telling him that Bjorn was telling the truth.

Clack-clack. The brakes were engaged as they arrived in front of Aslaug’s grave. _Beloved mother_ was engraved into her gravestone. 

“Dad was still married to my mom when I first met Aslaug. She was already pregnant with Ubbe,” Bjorn said quietly as he took position next to him. “I hated her. She tore my family apart. Gyda tried her best to be kind and friendly. I took her as an example. My mother was hurt, though and I hated Aslaug for it. It took me a long time to realize that Dad was the one who needed to be blamed. Aslaug just came into our life and crashed our family because she wanted the best for her child. It was my mother who divorced Dad and Dad immediately married your mom and played happy family. I hated her. I hated him. I never hated my baby brothers, though. I was so proud to be a big brother.”

Ivar couldn't even look at him now. He was freezing cold and he told himself that it was because of the rain that was soaking his clothes and the storm that was ripping at his hair and not because of his mother’s lonely, desolate grave.

"Ubbe came along and then Hvitserk and the first cracks started to appear in their relationship. They both had affairs - the difference was only that Dad was of the opinion that a man of his status and power was entitled to his affairs and a woman was not. To a man it should be optional to be faithful but not to a woman - that was his way of looking at it back then. I can’t pretend that Dad was anything but selfish. I think that Gyda’s death was the wake-up call that he needed back then. They decided to mend things with each other and then they had Sigurd. Dad was happy for a while and then she got pregnant again with you all of a sudden and Dad accused her of cheating again, said that this child could not be his. For a while, I believed it too. I wanted to believe him just to have another excuse to hate Aslaug. Then you were born and…” 

Bjorn paused and breathed out a chuckle but Ivar felt frozen to the core. 

“Dad took one look at you and he was head over heels in love with you,” He continued. “He loved you so fucking much, Ivar. Aslaug too. I believe she did love you. With all her heart. Her love, however, turned into a dagger eventually and I think Dad might have seen it coming. You were very sickly from the start and Aslaug went to all kinds of doctors with you. People started praising her for what a brave woman she was - handling a disabled child like you so well despite having three other little boys to take care of. No one knew how bad your disease might get. We were all afraid you would lose your hearing and perhaps even be bed-bound for the rest of your life. At one point … it got too much for Dad. Not you. The situation. He fled. And the praise for Aslaug got louder. Oh, what a brave, strong woman she was, what a good mother she was, handling four boys all on her own with one being so ill. And you … fuck … you were so ill, Ivar. You probably don't remember. You were so sick … and weak … and fragile … We were barely allowed to hold you or play with you when you got older. I was certain you would not see your sixth birthday. But then at around five years old, you got better. Slowly - But you did. I remember playing with you outside, I remember you walking on Ubbe’s feet, I remember your first walking frame, your first wheelchair. And then, it all went to shit when you were six. You had just started school three months prior and Aslaug pulled you out of school again because of health concerns. She decided to homeschool you. Again … the praise started to flatter her. And you … you got sicker again. I’m sure if Gyda would have been alive to see it, she would have recognized the signs much sooner than I did.”

“What signs?” Ivar’s mouth moved on its own again and there was nothing that he could do about it. 

“Munchhausen bi-proxy, it's called.” 

Ivar bristled at that. He was not dumb, after all, or lived on the other side of the moon. He had heard this term before and his mother had definitely not had this condition! Everything inside of him screamed that he needed to defend his mother and her actions against Bjorn. After all, his brother had said it himself! He had hated her! It would suit him just fine to defile her memory now that he could no longer defend herself. "Now you are making shit up."

"Why would I?"

"To smear her! You said it yourself! You hated her!"

"I am telling you the truth, Ivar, because you deserve to hear it." Bjorn sat down heavily on a bench close by and Ivar was glad about it because it meant he had to turn his wheelchair to the side and was no longer forced to look at his mother’s grave. "Aslaug started making you sick. It took me a long time to see it. She … she drank … a lot. In the end, she was abusive to all four of you guys but you … She loved and hated you in equal measure, I think. A lot of her frustrations she let out on you - when she thought that no one would see it. Only when Sigurd once came to me and told me that he had seen her drop you, I started to realize what was going on."

"She made a mistake…"

"Ask Sigurd if you don't believe me,” Bjorn said and waved his words away like a bad smell. “She dropped you and you broke your collarbone. She put you on medication to knock you out when she wanted time to herself. She knew what she was doing and with an affliction such as yours, no one questioned the broken bones you suffered time and time again. Only Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd could tell that something was wrong. I…” 

Bjorn paused for a second and drove a hand down his face, wiping away water from the rain in the process, as his eyes kept roaming across the graveyard as if he might be able to spot something that might just help him continue his tale. 

“I installed cameras around your house after that incident … I saw it for myself, Ivar. So, I threatened her. I went to her and demanded she would give up custody to me for all four of you guys. I showed her the proof. I told her I would go to the press if she would not comply. Her public image meant everything to her back then. That night … that same night … the house went up in flames. Ever since then I blamed myself. Not for her death. That was _her_ choice. But for the trauma you guys suffered, for the pain and fear, and that _you_ almost died. If you guys would have died … I wouldn't have been able to live with myself anymore. All these years I was plagued by guilt. It was so hard to even look at you … So I did what Dad did and I fled the first chance I got."

“So you admit it,” Ivar hissed and his mind was racing as he tried to make sense of Bjorn’s words and of his own fucking emotions. His head hurt, his chest felt so tight as if someone was standing on it. “You couldn't stand us.”

“No! I left because it was too hard to be around you guys! Not because I couldn't stand you! But because I was reminded of what harm I caused to you! I should have just taken what proof I had without telling her and gone to the police or CPS. I don't know! I should have gone a different route. Perhaps none of that would have happened then. Perhaps Aslaug would be alive and have overcome her illness. Perhaps things would be better now. I wanted to run from the consequences of my actions - not from you guys. When Ubbe called me and told me about Hvitserk the other day, I jumped on the first plane leaving for Norway.”

“You didn't come when we were in a car crash, though.”

“Because I didn't know about it,” Bjorn groaned. “Ubbe didn't tell me until months later. Are you kidding me? Of course, I would have come! Listen, I already lost a sister. Do you really think I would sit back and act as if it wouldn't interest me if one of my baby brothers died? It's a pain you cannot imagine, Ivar and I hope that you never have to experience it. Losing a sibling is like losing a limb and it never gets easier!”

“And yet you were living your best life God knows where and not even sent a fucking postcard or called us _once_.”

“I thought it was easier like this. For everyone involved. And I knew that you guys were safe. I wouldn't have left if I wouldn't have thought that you were safe.”

Ivar snorted but he bit down on the anger that was bubbling up inside of him. “Did you ever consider what this did to Ubbe, though? He was a kid! A kid that suddenly had to be a father for three little brothers - one of them being a fucking addict!”

“He didn't tell me…”

“Fuck off, Bjorn!” Ivar growled as he disengaged the brakes of his wheelchair and maneuvered himself away from the grave of his mother and down the path that they had come. “Go back to wherever the fuck you came from!”

This time Bjorn didn't follow him or tried to stop him as he made his way down the path and towards the gate. He needed to getaway. Away from the graveyard and the church and his siblings and - everything. He needed time to process what had just happened, time to understand what Bjorn had just told him. His brother had waltzed back into his life unannounced and, in a matter of mere minutes, turned his whole world upside down. Thankfully, Ivar knew the perfect place to hide and regroup.

※※※※※※※

As Heahmund returned to his house later in the day, he was not surprised to find Ivar hiding out in his bed, sitting only in a shirt and a pair of Heahmund’s dark grey sweatpants, leaning against all the pillows that he had been able to find and reading one of the books from Heahmund’s ‘to read’ pile that he had placed on a small shelf near the window.

“I see breaking and entering has become a hobby of yours,” Heahmund greeted the young man. Of course, when he had returned to the church during the morning hours only to find Ivar gone and his task unfinished, he had been worried about his lover but deep down he had been sure that Ivar was alright. He had thought about calling him but then he had pushed the thought aside. So far Ivar had been able to prove himself to be reliable and responsible with his work. That was why Heahmund had come to the conclusion that if Ivar had just up and left all of a sudden something had to have happened that had not allowed the kid to notify Heahmund. As he saw him now, sitting in his bed like it was normal, with his face and eyes a little puffier than what would be normal for Ivar, he could tell that his hunch had been accurate. Something had happened and it had been overwhelming for the teenager in a way that he had probably seen no other solution but to hide somewhere where his family would not find him. 

“Your door wasn't even locked,” Ivar replied. He sounded a little nasally. “It wasn't even a real challenge.”

“I’m sorry,” Heahmund huffed and sat down at the edge of his bed, his approach careful. “I make it more challenging next time. How does an alligator pit sound like? Or a bunch of angry dogs?”

“You know how to speak my love language,” Ivar replied with a dry snort and a twitch to the corners of his mouth. Heahmund reached out and pulled him in for a quick kiss before he sat down next to Ivar on the bed properly and pulled the young man against him. He knew that he was treading dangerous grounds right now but, so far, Ivar had shown that he respected the deal that they had made and this time there was no adrenaline rushing through Heahmund that might make him overstep the boundaries that he himself had set out for their relationship. 

“So … are we talking about what happened?”

“Do I have to?”

“Well, whatever happened affected you so badly that you didn't return to your work and didn't send me a text either. Whatever happened was so bad that it made you come here instead of going home, take a bath and, if I had to guess, cry about it. So, as someone who holds you very dear, I would like to know what hurt you so.”

The expression on Ivar’s face was truly marvelous as he stared at Heahmund out of big round and slightly dumbfounded eyes. He seemed unable to process his words at first but then his face cracked into a lopsided smile. "My brother Bjorn showed up,” He then said quietly. “Ubbe called him, apparently. I always assumed Ubbe had his number but … Well, he came to the church. You could say he kidnapped me. So, you see it's not my fault that I couldn't complete your stupid task."

"Don't worry, Love, the pews will still be there on Monday," He relished in the grimace that Ivar pulled at that. "Now, I will make some tea for us. It's five and someone recently told me that I get cranky when I don't get my afternoon tea. And then you will tell me everything."

**-End of Chapter 9-**


End file.
